


Bred in the Bone

by Emma



Series: The Celtic Men [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 14:38:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 28,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy Davidson must embrace his inheritance in order to protect Jack and Ianto’s daughter Gwen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is shamelessly stolen from Robertson Davies’s magnificent novel. It’s also an old saying: what’s bred in the bone will out in the flesh. This is an AU where Gwen and Owen were killed by Gray. So if you want to know why Martha is married to Rhys and Jack and Ianto have a CP and two adopted daughters, you may want to read _Evolution_ first.

            For every question there are two answers: the simple one and the truth. Take me. When someone asks if I’m Welsh, I’m likely to answer, _with this accent, you need to ask?_ Most people, even those that have Talent enough to see, will believe what they want to believe. They look at me and see a pleasant, unprepossessing bloke with a nice smile and they don’t look any further.

             The truth is more complicated.

             If being born in a place makes you a native, then I am Welsh, as were my father and grandfather before me. But there are other things, bred in the bone, that go beyond birthplace. You can turn your back on them, as my grandfather had, or try to outrun them, as my father had, or ignore them, as I did, but sooner or later they will claim their due, and God help you if you’re not ready.

             Mine presented their accounts in full on a pleasant spring afternoon in Pontcanna. It was sunny and warm and the breeze showered lilacs down on the tiny piece of lawn where Ianto and I were putting the final touches on the new playhouse while Benjamin Asher, Jack and Ianto’s handyman-bodyguard, pissed himself laughing. Jack, being Jack, had ordered a replica of a slate roof cottage big enough for a gaggle of three year olds and promptly turned it over to Benjamin to sort out. Ianto, being Ianto, had to make sure all the details were perfect and insisted on doing the job himself.

             Me, I had gotten drafted on my day off. Story of my life, really.

             Not that I minded. Little Rosie was an adorable tyke, a tiny version of Jack with Ianto’s beautiful eyes and mannerisms. Most people who saw her with her tads assumed some sort of fancy in vitro procedure. Well, they weren’t far wrong. Her birthday was that weekend, and the playhouse was her present. So as not to spoil the surprise, she was spending a few days with her aunt Tish and uncle Thomas at Woodstall Grange with all her cousins her age. They would be bringing her back Saturday morning.

             “Is everyone staying for the weekend? I can put Mike up, if you’d like.”

             “That would be good.” Ianto said, head bent over the curtain he was stitching. “Poor guy needs some time away from horses and little girls by now.”

             Soon after their wedding, Martha and Rhys sprung the news that not only were they expecting their own child, but they were adopting two of the girls we had rescued from the Archangel nutter, MacKenzie. Mind you, they were only taking two because Thomas Woodstall insisted on adopting two himself. A year later, Thomas married Martha’s sister Tish, who had taken on Rhys’s old manager job at the farm, and she promptly got pregnant. The Harkness-Jones children were awash in cousins these days.

             Thinking back on it I realize that if I hadn’t been so determined not to pay attention to things that were right under my nose, I should have known even then that something was stirring. Rhys, who I suspect has more than a touch of Talent, had asked me to name his children. He and Martha were just back from hospital, bringing their son home, and still arguing fiercely over names for all three. Throwing up his hands, Rhys’s turned to me.

             “You name them, Andy. You have more sense than all of us put together.”

             Before I’d given it a thought, I had walked up to them. “Briallen,” I said pointing at the girl Rhys was picking up, “Telyn,” pointing at the girl Ianto was holding, and “Darwen,” pointing at the boy sleeping in his mother’s arms.

             It was a true Naming; I felt it in the way everyone agreed without question. But it was more. I had named them Primrose, Harp, and Oak. Those were my clan’s heraldic badges. By our rules I had claimed them as mine, and I had done it as instinctively as breathing. The teaching ballads told of such magicks happening right before the Kings went to war; but there were no more Kings, and I had rejected my family’s traditions as my father and grandfather had, and the danger signals went right over my head.

             Just as we were hanging the last curtain – two grown men on their knees, trying to wriggle themselves in spaces meant for three year olds – we heard a commotion in the kitchen. We grinned at each other. Gwen and her beloved papa were home.

             When they’d added Rosie to the family, Jack and Ianto had devised ways to make sure Gwen wouldn’t feel jealous or left out. One of them was having Jack pick her up at school and share tea and confidences. By now even the Prime Minister knew not to call in the late afternoon unless the world was literally coming to an end. I could have told them Gwen wasn’t at all jealous of her little sister, but I judged that she enjoyed the conversations. Jack has this habit of answering her questions honestly, no matter what the subject.

             “Tad! Uncle Andy!”

             The kitchen door bounced open and the Harkness-Jones tornado hurtled out, followed by her grinning Papa; Mrs. Asher must have told them where to find us. I watched her as she swarmed over her tad. Physically Gwen was a stunning child. Tall for her age, with golden-brown hair and pale green eyes, her delicate build and Asian features were all Toshiko if one knew how to look. Her intelligence and exuberance more than matched her looks. It was all to her fathers’ credit that Gwen wasn’t a conceited little miss, as she had been getting compliments from total strangers all her life.

             She and I had taken to each other from the day I walked into Jack’s office  to find the feared Torchwood leader trying to soothe his teething daughter. His unhappy, loud teething daughter. I had rubbed her gums with my finger, funneling a little power down to the roots of her budding teeth, a trick I had learned from watching my mother deal with the kids she cared for. At age four, when she discovered fairy tales, she had declared me _her prince._ Perhaps I should have heeded that sign also.

             “Uncle Andy. I wanna show you my present!” She threw herself in my lap and wriggled until she was comfortable, the same way she had done when she was two. “Wanna see?”

             “Sure, princess.”

             She pulled a small box out of her pocket. My mouth went dry as I looked at it. I ran my fingers along the carvings and shuddered at the _wrongness_ of it. I opened the lid. The box was crammed full of red rose petals.

             I looked at Ianto and Jack. Ianto had gone blank and still, but I could almost smell his terror. Jack… Jack was worse. He looked hopeless.

             “Who gave you this, Gwen?”

             “A new girl in school. Her name is Jasmine.”

             “And do you like your present?”

             “Noooo… It feels bad. Is it a bad present, Uncle Andy?”

             “I think so, sweetheart. Would you do me a favor?” At her nod, I placed my hand over hers and put as much power into my voice as I dared. “Promise me, as your prince, that you won’t accept any more presents from anyone you don’t know. Not even a nice girl in school. And promise me you won’t accept if she invites you to go with her. Anywhere, no matter where.”

             “I promise, my prince.”

             As she uttered the words I felt the geas take hold. And I knew there was no going back.


	2. Chapter 2

            After a few minutes, Benjamin strolled over, extending a hand to Gwen. “Come on, Owlet. Let’s go in. Maybe Moira will give us tea if we offer to help with the dishes. Your tads and uncle have business to discuss.”

             She wrinkled her nose at him but stood up cheerfully enough. Without a word she handed me the box then took Benjamin’s hand and left without a backwards look. When the door had closed behind them, I turned to Jack and Ianto.

             “Nothing is going to happen to Gwen!”

             “How can you promise that?” Ianto’s voice shook. “We fought them once and lost. The girl Jasmine… we had to let her go, or they would have destroyed the world.”

             “But Jasmine wanted to go, right? Unhappy or neglected or maybe even abused?”

             “Mostly neglect, I think. Her mother’s boyfriend wasn’t very fatherly. And there was another baby on the way.”

             “That’s the difference. Gwen doesn’t want to go anywhere except travelling with the Doctor when she grows up. She loves her tads and her baby sister and all her assorted uncles and aunts and cousins. The little bastards can’t touch the happy ones.”

             My clan had made sure of that.

             Jack had been sitting on the ground, staring at his hands as he plaited several dandelion stalks together. Now he unfolded upwards with his usual grace, but when he spoke it wasn’t the man who had become my friend that I heard, but the Torchwood leader whose job was to protect everyone, and be suspicious of everyone.

             “How do you know so much about them, Andy?”

             I wasn’t ready for a grand confession yet, so I would have to thread the needle carefully. “My grandmother told me about them. According to her, the fairies cannot touch a happy child, or one who has given her word not to follow them.”

             “Is that why you asked Gwen for a promise?”

             “Yes.” I stroked the box with my thumbs. “I’ll need to go check at the school. Kids don’t just appear at St. Teilo’s. Someone had to register Jasmine, fill out paperwork, all that stuff.”

             “Couldn’t they,” Jack pointed upwards, “have just made it all appear?”

            “I don’t think so. Grandmother says their power is limited because they have a limited understanding of humans.”

             “Limited?” Ianto looked at me as if I were insane. “They could destroy the world!”

             “That’s a matter of manipulating nature, Ianto.” I grabbed my jacket from the fence where I had thrown it earlier. "Both of you stay in the house with Gwen for now. There’s one more thing I can do to keep them at a distance, but I’ll need you to be inside.”

             Jack gave me one of his patented _this isn’t over_ looks. “All right. Come back here to report.”

             “Will do. And Jack? Ianto? I will tell you everything as soon as I can. My word on it.”

             I waited until they were inside, then stood in the middle of the lawn, eyes closed, Seeing the house as it was in Reality: a roaring flame fed by undying love. I had never understood how Jack made as much difference as I knew he did, but now I could see it plainly. Jack would love as long as he lived and even if he forgot your name a million years down the road his love would still be there. That kind of power makes ripples in time, changing things as it goes.

             But it was the soft green glow that spilled out from the windows that made me damn near yelp in surprise like an untrained fledgling. There was protection in the house, old and powerful, placed there by one of my clan. And it was the kind that attached itself to people, not places.

             I opened my senses and Searched.  It didn’t take long. Ianto’s essence glowed emerald, and thick ropes of it extended outwards to embrace everyone around him. It was magick of the highest order, and he was doing it without conscious knowledge.

             Looking deeper I found the reason for it. Ianto’s family was Bound to one of my ancestors. It was a millennia-old geas, and it had claws in it like I had never seen before. Compulsion was built into every strand; whoever had done it had simply to extend his or her hand and Ianto would come to heel. And yet there was a sort of love in it as well, and the promise of reciprocity. The One who had Bound Ianto’s family had also Bound himself or herself to them. And, by Tradition, that meant everyone Ianto designated as family.

             However it had come into being – the Caster and the Casting were both unknown to me – it meant I could work with the existing magick instead of casting my own, which I hadn’t been sure I could. My lessons were a long time past, and I had not used the knowledge after leaving my grandmother’s house.

             When I grasped the geas’s energy, the wind started to howl. Dead leaves and rose petals appeared out of nowhere, whirling in the gusts. Voices howled and hissed, reciting bits of poetry and coarse doggerel. I stood still in its midst, letting it wash over me. As the storm picked up, invisible hands rattled the windows and doors of the house, trying to force them open. I used the energy to keep them shut, keeping my hands at my side, making a show of my strength. Bluffing is sometimes the biggest part of power, grandmother had said, and I was bluffing for all I was worth. I didn’t know if I could beat them. I only knew I had given my word that I would.

             The wind became a gale. Bodies brushed past me and long bony fingers prodded at me. There were rocks in the gusts now and a couple smashed into my back. My hair was pulled, my clothes torn. I still stood, but the energy was beginning to slip out of my hands. I would lose this battle if I didn’t retaliate soon.

             I forced my arms out from my body, hands palms up and fingers outspread. I called on the element they couldn’t touch, the one that was my family’s natural ally. Slowly, droplets began to condense and fall, and where they fell, they burned. The poetry was mixed with shrieks now. As the rain fell harder, the winds died down, and the air was filled with screams of rage and wails of pain that faded away until the afternoon was again sunny and warm.

             As I tried to catch my breath, I heard applause behind me. I whirled around, but it wasn’t an enemy. Maybe.

             She had not bothered with a glamour, so she stood in her full power. I called her grandmother, although our real relationship was obscured by time. She had been grandmother to all my family for as long as we could remember. The Lady Modron, Eldest of the Tylwyth Teg, whom the Irish called the Morrigan and the Arthurian bards had called Morgan La Fay.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Englynion are short poems with very, very difficult metric rules. The _Englynion y Beddau_ (Stanzas of the Graves) is one of the best known. The _Englynion of the Summer Kings_ is my own invention. Also, properly Gwenhyfar means “white phantom” but in some places it was also used for little white field owls; therein little Gwen’s nickname. Tywyl means dark, obscure, benighted

           I bowed deeply, court-fashion, and spoke the formal phrases, and all the time I was trying to figure out what she was up to.  My grandmother, like most of the Tylwyth Teg, did not involve herself with mortals these days, but her showing up couldn’t be a coincidence. _Nothing_ is a coincidence around the Lady Modron.

             She waited until I had finished, a little smile playing around her lips. She had that same look when I was five and managed to recite the _Englynion of the Summer Kings_ letter-perfect; proud and a little amused.

             “I see you have not forgotten your manners. Come. We must talk.”

             As I walked towards her I felt the slight internal shift that signaled passage into Reality – the place the Welsh called Annwfn. In spite of the poets, it isn’t heaven or the underworld; simply a dimension existing alongside but a few degrees away from ours. Words are useless to describe it and the mathematics are so complex that they would probably baffle even Toshiko. It was my childhood home.

             Grandmother offered me her hand and I bowed over it as protocol required, but then she wrapped her arms around me and kissed my forehead.  I wanted to grab and hold on. Somewhere in my mind there was a little boy who absolutely believed his grandmother could make it better.

             “They were watching, you know.”

             “I would have expected nothing else.” We spoke the yidh y Tylwyth, the lesser tongue, as was proper between family members. “There go all my secrets.”

             “Indeed. Your Immortal will not accept anything less.”

             “My Immortal?” She was using the personal-possessive, implying a more personal relationship with Jack than I would ever have considered. “He’s Ianto’s Immortal, grandmother, and it would be worth my liver to imagine otherwise.”

             “As it should be. There’s true love in that house. But of all he loves you are the only one who will live long enough to be a Companion.”

             “Are you Seeing or speculating, Grandmother?”

             “A bit of both, I think.”

             I judged we had spent enough time on the niceties, and, if truth be told, I wanted to avoid thinking about the subject. “What are you doing here, grandmother?”

             Her smile let me know she knew exactly what I was up to. “The Small Ones are afraid. There’s darkness moving on the Road.”

            “Do they know what it is?"

            “No. Only that it is old and very, very angry.”

             “When it rains… Well, whatever it is will have to wait. Right now I’m more concerned about the tywyl. They came after one of mine, grandmother.”

             She gave me a long, level look that made me want to squirm like an errant ten-year-old. “If you continue on this path you will have to accept all that comes with it.”

             I shrugged. “Maybe it’s time.” Taking a deep breath, I let Power flow outwards. “Gwenhyfar Eugenie Harkness-Jones, daughter of Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, and Toshiko Sato, is mine to protect.”

             Neither of us was much surprised at the roll of thunder that followed. The smile on grandmother’s face could have lit all of Wales for a year.

             “Accepted and witnessed.” She was as close to crowing as her dignity allowed. “Are you then making a formal demand for assistance?”

             I rolled my eyes Ianto-fashion. “Yes, grandmother, I am.”

             “Very well. The Tywyl want the little White Owl because they were forced to give up her father when he was her age.”

             I had to force myself to snap my mouth shut. “Ianto? The tywyl wanted a Bound child for their Chosen? Did they go mad?”

             “We wondered the same. They were… taught a lesson.” She sighed. “But the child’s father could not face the battle. He took his wife and son and ran. The boy was never told of his heritage. The magick is there, but its power will wane, and he doesn’t know how to Call. And you know better than to ask.”

             I nodded. By the rules we lived by, even if grandmother knew which of the Tylwyth Teg had cast the Binding, she could not tell me. “Very well, then. I thank you for your assistance, my Lady Modron.”

             She kissed my cheek. I watched her walk away, until she had almost faded from sight. “Grandmother?”

             She looked back over her shoulder. “Yes?”

             “You could have helped without all the formalities.”

             She grinned, and suddenly it wasn’t my grandmother, but the Lady Modron who was looking back.  The Eldest, whose role it is to make sure that Her clan lives up to its responsibilities. “I know.”

             I stepped back into the everyday world, and walked out to my car, carefully not looking at the house. The drive to the school is short – closeness to Saint Teilo was one of the strongest selling points of the property for Jack and Ianto – and really, I could have walked, except that something had pushed me towards the car from the moment I had thought about checking on Jasmine. My side of the family is not strong on Seeing, but some things you listen to.

             Saint Teilo catered to the children of military and diplomatic families. A healthy number were from the local UNIT base. The school mistress was retired military, like Benjamin Asher. There was no way a strange child could have shown up without proper security checks, but it seemed like that was exactly what had happened. The secretary that searched the files and came up empty-handed seemed near tears. Unfortunately the head mistress was at an Independent School Council conference and would not be back for three days.

             Leaving my name and phone number with the secretary I left the building, half-heartedly trying to find excuses not to go back to Jack and Ianto’s place. I wasn’t ready to explain, not when I wasn’t sure myself of what I was doing, or how to deal with some of the things my grandmother had told me. But there was really no excuse that would be acceptable to Jack, and, oddly enough, disappointing him was not acceptable to me.

             Half-way to the house, my phone rang. It was Toshiko.

             “Andy, help me." She was whispering, and she sounded terrified. "Please help me!”     


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who speak or have some knowledge of Welsh will have realized by now that I'm taking some liberties with the language. It will all be explained, I promise.

            I broke all sorts of traffic rules getting to Toshiko’s place. My guts were in a knot. Tosh was one of the coolest, toughest people I knew, and she had sounded nearly out of her mind with fear.

             Tosh lived on the top floor of one of the converted buildings on West Bute Street. After she had returned from her trip with the Doctor, she had wanted a clean break with her old life, so she traded Asian modern for Edwardian Art Nouveau. Something had happened during that trip. The shy, socially awkward geek had disappeared; instead we got an outspoken warrior with a ferocious appetite for life.

             Jack had been delighted, Ianto had been amused, and I had been… disquieted. I had met the old Tosh a few times and had liked her a great deal. It took me a while to warm up to this one, even though she dazzled me.

             Over the years we had grown slowly closer. We’d found we had similar tastes and when we disagreed, we were both stubborn enough to keep the argument going past insanity. Two or three times a week we ate dinner at her place and settled in with a movie or a game of chess. If I had been an objective observer I would have said we were gently sliding towards something deeper and more complex than just friendship.

             I pulled into the first empty parking space I saw and ran the rest of the way. Kevin, the security man, waved me through to the penthouse elevator. When the doors slid open, rose petals cascaded down on my head. Swearing, I backed out and headed for the stairwell. Once inside, I stood on the first step and Searched for the closest Path; this part of Cardiff was criss-crossed with them.  When I located it I borrowed a bit of its energy to build a Path of my own to Toshiko’s library.

             I stepped out into an orgy of destruction.

             Furniture had been smashed, paintings ripped from their fames, bookcases overturned, and books shredded. Dirt and rotting vegetation had been ground into the carpets. Rose petals lay in drifts on top of every surface. The only survivor was the antique oak cabinet where Tosh kept her collection of crystal animals.

             Somewhere I could hear Toshiko screaming.

             I followed the sound to the long gallery that faced towards the bay. It was the main public space in the flat and it was cleverly arranged to serve several functions. At the far end, French doors led from the kitchen and dining area into a small terrace where Tosh grew herbs and flowers in all sorts of containers.

             Tosh stood with her back pressed against the doors, her katana held in proper hasso no kamae. Three tywyl encircled her, trying to break through, but obviously not brave enough to tangle with cold iron. On the other side of the glass, more tywyl scratched and hissed.

             Fear was the tywyl’s strongest weapon, but they had miscalculated with Tosh. Somehow she had pushed past the terror and now she was magnificently furious. Her screams were a challenge, and she had drawn first blood; her blade and her shirt were stained green and gold.

             “Peidh’o!” I barked, Casting a shield around Tosh. “You can do nothing here!”

             The hissing reached an ear-numbing level then cut off abruptly. The tywyl circling Tosh turned slowly around to face me. The oldest one of them threw himself at me until he was so close I could feel his breath stir my hair. He was powerful both in magick and in status. I was certain he hadn’t been among the ones that had attacked me earlier. The outcome might have been much different if he had.

             “Ahhh. The young one. Much power, but still unblooded. Shall we fight, you and I?”

             He spoke taffodh y Tylwyth, the High tongue, after a fashion, so I returned the favor. “Why are you here?”

             “Shall I tell you? Yes, I shall. The Mother is protection for the Chosen. She must not be here.”

             “The  Mother is under my protection, tywyl. And that of others. Or didn’t your younglings tell you about the Bound?”

             “I know of the Bound. He was denied me. Me!” His voice rose in a shrill whine. “It will not matter much longer. The darkness will soon be here and all Bindings will be cast off.” He looked at me, then at Toshiko. “She is fierce. We shall remember her… for later.”

             “I think you will find she shall remember you.”

             He threw back his head and laughed, a rasping horrible noise that hurt the ears. Then they were all gone.

             I huffed in relief. “Now that was too damn close.”

             Tosh moved a bit closer but the katana was still at the ready. “Andy?”

             “Yes, Tosh, it’s really me. Promise.” As I said it I realized how ridiculous it sounded. “Want to play twenty questions?”

             She laughed. When we had taken the first tentative steps towards friendship, we had played games of twenty questions about every subject under the sun.

             “No, that’s all right. What is going on, Andy? What do the fairies want? How is it you speak their language?”

             “Well, technically they’re not fairies and they speak _my_ language.” I was babbling, automatically stalling for time. “I need to call Jack.”

             “You sound like the Doctor when you do that,” she said. “Talking without saying anything. Answers, Andy.”

             “All right, but it’ll be best if I just tell everyone at the same time.” I tapped the implant under my right ear. “Jack.”

             It didn’t take him long to answer. “Andy?”

             “Jack, don’t ask any questions, ok? The fairies attacked Toshiko.” I cut him off before he could even get started. “No, dammit, don’t say anything. She’s all right. It’s time to talk, Jack. I need you and Ianto to come to the Hub.”

             “What about Gwen?” he asked.

             “She’ll be all right in the house for now.” I took a deep breath. “Martha, Rhys, and Euan should be there too. I want to get this out of the way all at once. Twenty minutes.”

             He rang off without a word. I smiled at Tosh. “He either trusts me insanely or he’s giving me enough rope.”

             “Knowing Jack, both.” She was cleaning the katana. “Let me change out of this… mess and we can go together. Take my car and come back together later. I don’t think I want to be alone for a while.”

             “Actually, Tosh, I think I’m going to introduce you to a new way to travel.”


	5. Chapter 5

             Tosh took the Path in stride. Part of it was what Ianto likes to call _the Doctor effect._   Jack, Martha, Mickey and Tosh all have it: a matter of fact acceptance of even the most implausible events. Most of it, though, was Tosh’s own nature. If curiosity killed the cat, Tosh was on her fifth or sixth life.

             By the time we got to the Hub everyone was there. Nothing like appearing out of nowhere in the middle of a supposedly secure underground base to make everyone jumpy and just slightly trigger happy. I kept still, arms away from my body, palms out. Tosh had no sense of self-preservation. She stomped across the floor to Jack, who was standing at the foot of the stairs leading to his office.

             “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She bellowed at him. “That’s Andy. He can help us fight those damn things!”

              “I’m glad you’re safe.” He kissed the top of her head. “Euan, could you get us some coffee? Andy, here or in the conference room?”

             “Here. We might need to talk to… others… later.”

             He cocked an eyebrow at me but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t fooled for a second. Jack was willing to listen but he would happily put a bullet through my head if he thought I was dangerous. Fair enough; I would have done exactly the same to protect my family.

             Euan returned almost immediately with a loaded tray. “I started it earlier,” he confided as he handed me my mug. “I don’t know what this is about, but it sounds like a long meeting.”

             Jack waved Euan to the only empty chair. “All right Andy. You have the floor.”

             “I’ve been trying for years to figure out how best to say this, but I don’t think there is a way to make it easier.” I looked at each face in turn. “My family arrived on Earth several millennia ago. It wasn’t a choice. I suppose you could say we are Earth’s earliest refugees.”

             “War?” Jack asked.

             I shook my head. “A gas supergiant star in our neighborhood was hit by a runaway black hole the size of the moon.” Jack winced. “Yeah. The explosion destabilized every sun in that arm of our galaxy. Planets exploded like popcorn. More than a thousand races were wiped out. We were lucky. We had the Road. Even then we lost ninety percent of our people.”

             “The Road?”

             “That’s what we call the Rift, Jack.”

             Tosh sat up like she’d been pinched. “You can travel in the Rift?”

             “Not anymore. We knew that when the energy of the explosion collided with the Road it would set off a chain reaction that would threaten all the Universes. Once we were safely inside we used our power to seal it behind us. We burned out, Tosh. What we did destroyed our ability to See the Road. If it hadn’t been for the Small Ones we would have died inside it. They brought us here.”

             Jack poured himself more coffee. “Small Ones?”

             “Our… companions.”

             “Hold it a sec.” Rhys raised a hand. “Look, Andy. I’ve known you a long time and you’ve always been an honest bloke. You want me to believe you’re an alien refugee, fine. God knows after weevils, Daleks, Time Agents, and baby Archangels, that’s small potatoes. But a large bunch of aliens living among us for thousands of years and nobody noticing?”

             I couldn’t stop the smirk. “But you have always known about us, Rhys. Would it help if I told you that our word for planet is _tylwyth_ and our word for people is _teg_?”

             Ianto spat out a mouthful of coffee. “The Tylwyth Teg? You’re a…”

             “Watch it, mate. Close your mouth, Rhys.”  I sat back, rubbing my eyes. “We were lucky. Earth has a habitable shadow dimension. We settled in. Got to know the neighbours. They were culturally primitive, but with so much promise!”

             “What about the fairies?” Euan had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “I mean the baby taking ones? Did they come with you?”

             “No. They were here when we arrived. We called them tywyl.”

             “That’s Welsh for something dismal and awful,” Rhys objected.

             “No. That’s taffodh for _thief_. You borrowed it much later. In those days they used to actually steal children. They attacked a family living near one of our settlements, people we had developed a fondness for. We fought them and won. We couldn’t banish or destroy them because their Power is woven into the fabric of this Universe, but we forced them to agree to our terms. They could only take children who were willing in the depths of their souls and those with nothing to bind them to the human world. We placed very strong claws on the geas.” I saw Jack’s questioning look. “Punishments.”

             Martha had been silent until that moment, watching and weighing in her usual fashion. “So why are they going after Gwen? She’s a perfectly happy child.”

             “I don’t know. Well, I know some of it, but not enough to give you a good answer.”

             “What do you know?” Ianto asked.

             I wondered how he would take what I was going to say. “About twenty-five years go, the tywyl desired a child. His mother had died the year before and his father had just remarried. He was unhappy about it.  Maybe one night he made a wish, or maybe he said something in the heat of an argument with his tad, I don’t know, but the tywyl could make a case that he was a candidate. Except… his family had been Bound to one of ours for more than a millennium in a reciprocal Bond, which is quite unusual for an old magick. We refused him, and punished the tywyl for their presumption. Now they want the child’s child.”

             “Me?” Jack grabbed the mug that slid from Ianto’s fingers before it could hit the ground. “Gwen is in danger because of me?”

             “No! Ianto, you and your family should have been completely off limits. Not only are you Bound to us but they were punished once before for trying to take you! No. The tywyl are acting as if they expect something very big to happen soon. Something that will release them from their geas.” I tossed back the last of my coffee and poured another mug. “The one I talked to at Tosh’s said that darkness was coming and all the Bindings would cease to matter. And my grandmother said that the Small Ones are afraid of a darkness moving on the Road.”

             “Need more information.” Jack said. “Tosh…”

             “Wait a moment, Jack. There’s someone who can help us, but I need your permission to invite him, and you need to mean it.” I looked at all the equipment. “It’s going to be bad enough with all this cold iron around.”

             “All right. Is there any formal promise I need to make?”

             “No, but he will know, and he… doesn’t suffer insults.” I took a deep breath, and spoke the words of invitation a brilliant human boy had once devised for him. “By cowslip, and violet, and wild thyme, by sweet musk-rose and eglantine, sweet cousin Robin, would thou attend?”

             And he was there, all four feet of him, looking like a slim, delicate child, and carrying enough Power to push the Sun from its orbit if it pleased him.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note I’m still taking liberties with Welsh. Also, Rhys’s welcome comes from an obscure Irish legend that says if you give hospitality to a total stranger, especially one you suspect of being a fairy, you should greet them with words similar to those. It stops them from playing tricks.

             Before I could say anything, Rhys stood up and bowed. “You are welcome at our hearth, my lord. We pray you, do not mock us.”

             Sometimes Rhys can manage to surprise the hell out of me.

             Robin was amused by the traditional greeting. He clapped his hands gleefully and returned the bow. Then he went on to examine each one of us in turn, even me, whom he had helped raise from birth. He smiled knowingly at Tosh, making her blush like a village maiden, then, smirking at me, filled her lap with bluebells and primroses. Her little squeal made me smile even as I gave him a dirty look. Cheeky sod.

             I got a bit of my own back when he took a good look at Martha. His eyes widened, and an elegant posy tied with white ribbons appeared in midair in front of her. Martha took it, giving Robin one of her patented make-you-feel-all-warm-and-fuzzy smiles.

             “Rosemary for remembrance,” he said as he sailed past her on his way to Rhys.

              “In this case, in remembrance of." I said. "You have friends in common.” When she still looked confused, I recited, “ _Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day…_ ”

             She gaped as she stared at the being now giving her husband the once-over. “He knew… cowslips and eglantines… he’s not… is he?”

             “Indeed he is. For my sins.”

             I waited patiently until Robin had completed his circuit; some things cannot be hurried. The last one he came to was Jack. The two immortals stared at each other, identical looks of intense curiosity on their faces. Robin leaned in and _sniffed_ Jack, then burst into laughter.

             “Robin…” I said as severely as I could.

             “No, no. Your forgiveness, Captain, I pray. I am known for having an odd sense of humor.” He presented Jack with an old-fashioned watch fob charm made of pink quartz carved in the shape of a shell. “Mended?”

             Jack looked at me. There was something about the gift knocking at the back of my head, but I couldn’t drag it into the light of day. Still, Robin would never do anything to harm Jack. I nodded.

             Jack took the present with a small bow. “Mended.”

             Robin laughed. “And all is well.”

             “Maybe not, Cousin.” I judged it was time to steer the conversation to our purpose. “Grandmother says the Bachgen’in foresee evil on the Road.”

             He cocked his head, considering. “Evil? Perhaps. Darkness, certainly. It searches for something it lost a long time ago. They all do.”

             “They? More than one?”

             “Some of its kind were here many centuries before we came. Although it is gossiped among the beldames that the Lady Achren had battle-knowledge of them from the days she Guarded the Road.”

             “We should be talking to her, then,” Jack said.

             “Good luck on that,” I said sourly. “Aunt Achren disappeared when my grandfather was a boy. The beldames clamp their teeth and refuse to say why, but I do know she was hard to find even before then.”

             “Damn. She could be dead for all you know.”

             I would have been appalled by his comment if I hadn’t been looking at my Cousin. Robin was staring fixedly at Ianto; he was playing with the geas energy the same way a cat plays with a string. We had done this before, Robin and I, during my training. He knew something, but couldn’t tell me. It was up to me to dig it out.

             “Cousin, what is the duty of one who is Bound in love?”

             “To willingly accept his share of the burden.”

             “And if he does not know to whom he owes this duty?”

             “Then he must return home and make an end or a new beginning.” He shook his head. “No more questions. All the cold iron makes me tired. Perhaps next time we will meet under the trees.”

             “Then I will not detain you any longer. Our thanks for your attendance, cousin.” I waited until he was nearly gone before I shifted to the Lesser tongue. “And next time, my Lord Puck, let me do my own proposing.”

             He glanced at Tosh, who still sat with her lap full of flowers. “Faint heart and slow wooing, bachgen, never made husband and father out of a man.”

             He faded out completely, leaving the scent of wildflowers behind. Rhys gave a great, big, explosive snort.

             “Now I’ve seen everything.” He turned to Martha, teasing. “And what is it with you and powerful beings giving you presents?”

             She laughed and kissed him. “Ah, but I got a little posy. Tosh got a lapful of gorgeous flowers.”

             “Bluebells. Fairy thimbles, my mam-gu called them. And primroses. My mam-gu used to say they meant…” He caught a glimpse of my face. “Ah, never mind. Business to take care of, right?”

             “Right.” I said. “Ianto, where does your family come from?”

             “The Valleys. A tiny place called Dynogoddeu. I think we go back centuries. Why? And what did… Duw. Was that really Robin Goodfellow? The Puck?”

             “Yep. The oldest and most powerful of the Bachgen’in, the Small Ones. Our Companions.” I shook my head. “And sometimes our shepherds, I think.”

             Ianto gave me an odd look. “He whispered _welcome back_ when he was looking me over.”

             “Ianto, somewhere very far back in your family history, your ancestors entered into a reciprocal Bond with a Tylwyth, a very powerful one. That makes you sort of one of the family.” I howled with laughter when he gave me _the look_. “Sorry, Cousin.”

             “What does that have to do with my home town?”

             “When we were talking about aunt Achren, Robin became utterly fascinated by you. He was even playing with your geas energy a little. He wanted me to ask about you, and specifically about your Binding. He told me you would have to return home. And now I find that you come from a town named _The Men of Goddeu_ , using a taffodh grammatical construction? Do you really think it’s a coincidence that your family has deep roots in a place named after the one piece of Welsh literature that mentions Achren by name?”

             “Umm. I see what you mean by being shepherded.” Jack tapped rapidly on the arm of his chair. “I don’t like Ianto being manipulated like this.”

             “Neither do I, but we don’t have a choice at this point. If Achren is the only one who knows how to fight this darkness thing we have to find her. And it would seem that the best way of going about it is through Ianto.”


	7. First Interlude

            “I still don’t like it.”

             Ianto sighed. “So you have said. Repeatedly. But it’s the only choice we have,  cariad.”

             He was standing at the bedroom window looking down at the shadowed garden. The playhouse was a featureless square among the flower beds. At the far end, the tiny Victorian-style greenhouse Jack had given him for their fifth anniversary seemed almost an etching against the white-washed garden wall. Beyond that was the garage and the gate leading to the park and the river.

             His oldest child slept nearby, probably dreaming of horses or of traveling the Universe with her uncle in his magic blue box. His youngest was on a sleepover with her cousins. And in this room, his husband sat on the bed, nude, grousing about things he couldn’t change.

             If someone had told him after Canary Wharf that he would end up married to the de facto head of Torchwood, worrying about when was the best time for his daughters to get their own pony, and whether the Italian tomatoes in the greenhouse were ready to be transplanted to the kitchen garden, he would have thanked them politely and quickly have them sectioned.

             After adopting their Little Owl, Jack had gone on a crusade to _normalize_ their life as much as he could considering their brief. Part of it, Ianto knew, was Jack’s guilt over the strain he thought he had inflicted on Gwen and Rhys. The largest part, though, was Jack wanting, _needing,_ the grounding provided by a family. Guarding the planet was one thing, but having a family made it all personal. Whenever something went heartbreakingly wrong, when he asked himself why he went on doing his miserable job, Jack could look around and say _this is why_.

             Ianto would be double-damned if he let those horrors take that away from Jack.

             “You have that look,” his husband remarked.

             “Which one?”

             “The one that says there’ll be hell to pay if someone gets in your way.” Jack patted the duvet. “Come sit.”

             Ianto untied his pajamas and let them drop to the floor. He slid into bed behind Jack, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist. Jack wriggled back between Ianto’s outspread legs until he could tilt his head and press his lips under Ianto’s jaw.

             “Promise you’ll be careful.”

             “Of course I will, cariad. I have something to come back for.”

             He carded his fingers through Jack’s hair, curving his fingers around Jack’s skull and shifting him so their open mouths could meet. He drew out the kiss, licking and nipping at Jack’s lips before letting Jack seduce him into a slow, unhurried exploration. Jack liked kissing, liked taking his time sweeping his tongue over Ianto’s teeth and sucking lightly on his tongue, slowly, slowly letting the heat build until they were both shivering.

             “Slow down,” he gasped, pulling back and taking a deep breath.

             Jack pouted. “Spoilsport.”

             “Show me your present.” Ianto stroked down Jack’s shoulders and arms. “I didn’t have a chance to see it.”

             Jack stretched back to reach the pocket watch lying on the side table – making sure he rubbed his arse against Ianto’s groin and grinning at his lover’s hiss – and handed it over. Ianto examined the charm hanging from the fob. The quartz was exquisitely carved, each whorl of the shell perfectly defined.  It was mounted on a delicate open frame of braided gold and silver, allowing light to shine through and making the quartz seem to glow.

             “Amazing.”

             “It is, isn’t it?” Jack took the watch out of Ianto’s hand and put it back on the table. “But nowhere near as amazing as my beloved husband who’s making me a little crazy right about now.”

             He twisted around, pushing Ianto flat on his back and stretching out on top of  him. This time when they kissed they knew there was no slowing down.

             “I want you inside me.,” Jack moaned, rubbing their erections together. “I want to ride you. Now!”

             “Bossy,” Ianto chuckled. “”Get me ready, then.”

             Jack sat up. Ianto handed him the lube. Jack filled his cupped hand, then rubbed his palms together to warm the gel. The smile he gave Ianto as he wrapped his slippery hands around the base of Ianto’s erection was positively obscene. Slowly, never losing eye contact, he bent down and swirled his tongue around the head as his hands stroked up and down the shaft, coating it thoroughly.

             “Jack, if you really want me to…. “ Ianto’s words trailed into a moan as Jack straddled him and sank down. “God, Jack…”

             Jack took Ianto’s hands and brought them to his lips as he began to move. He suckled each finger and licked both palms. Ianto shuddered. Making love with Jack was always amazing but tonight it seemed more intense, deeper. _I’ve loved this man forever and I will love him forever._

He pulled his hands away from Jack’s mouth and ran them up and down his torso, flicking at the nipples. Jack’s gasp made him smile – as much as he could while trying to hold off the intense orgasm building up inside him. He traced a path down to Jack’s erection and began stroking him hard.

             “Ianto, please, now, now, now!”

             “I love you like this. God Jack, come for me, come on cariad, come for me”.

             Jack’s back arched and he erupted into Ianto’s hands. The sight of his husband, his lover, so abandoned to his pleasure sent Ianto over the edge. His orgasm burned up his spine and he convulsed, emptying himself into Jack. As Jack folded down against Ianto's chest, Ianto wrapped his arms around him and held on as their bodies shook for what seemed like hours. Finally they collapsed, gasping for air, bodies fused by sweat and come.

             “I’ve loved you forever and I will love you forever,” Jack whispered.

             “What?” Ianto pulled Jack’s head up so he could see him. “What did you say?”

             “You heard me. Be happy with that. I’m not a mushy sort of guy.”

             Ianto laughed. “This from the man who sent me three dozen roses while I was attending an UNIT conference because he hadn’t seen me in three days. There are husbands all over the military-industrial complexes of several countries that will never forgive you. They’re sick and tired of hearing _why can’t you be more like Jack_?”

             “I missed you.” Jack yawned. “Sleepy…”

             “Me too.”

              Ianto turned off the lamp. Still clutching Jack, he settled into a more comfortable position and drifted off. On the bedside table, the seashell charm glowed faintly.

 


	8. Chapter 8

            I handed Ianto a staff. “Here. I know you’ve been practising.”

            He examined it curiously. “Rowan?”

             “Our word for it is rudh’an. The bands are silver polished with crushed rowan seeds.” He cocked his eyebrow at me and I sighed. “Yes, I know. Protection against witches and evil spirits. It works, yeah? And no, all the other stuff is superstition. Just rowan.”

             We were packing the unmarked SUV. Jack was hovering in the background, looking as thunderously unhappy as only Jack could. He didn’t like the idea of this expedition. No, that’s not quite right; he didn’t like the idea of this expedition leaving without him.

             After Robin left, we had discussed our options. Jack was all for starting out right then and there. When I told him that he would have to stay behind and Tosh would have to come along, he gave me a long look.

             “Explain.”

             The sheer amount of energy in his voice sent shivers skittering along every nerve ending. Most people think Jack’s power rests on his personality and his position as head of Torchwood, but there’s much more to it than that. When the Blaidd Drwg brought Jack back from the dead, she used energy from the Great River – what Jack and his Doctor call the Vortex – to restart his cell functions. Each time Jack dies and returns he absorbs a little bit more. There will come a time when the only limits on Jack’s power will be those he sets himself.

             “Ianto has to go because he’s the only one with the power to summon my aunt. Tosh has to because she’s probably the only mortal other than Ianto who could.”

             “Me?” Tosh nearly squeaked. “Why?”

             “Among our people there’s a great deal of magick associated with being a child’s birth-mother,” I said gently. “You can argue on Gwen’s behalf and Achren is almost obliged to listen. And you have to stay here, Jack, because you’re the only one who can coordinate the research into whatever is happening inside the Rift. Nobody, not even Tosh, understands mainframe’s capabilities the way you do, and you can draw on information and training the rest of us don’t have.”

             Rhys cleared his throat. “No offense, mate, but I would have thought you of all people wouldn’t have too much confidence on all this… cold iron stuff.”

             I shrugged. “Tools are tools. I’m not very good with them, my brain doesn’t work that way. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the results.”

             Jack groused and whinged a bit more, but he was too good a tactician not to see the logic of it. Now he hugged Tosh tightly and whispered something in her ear that had her giggling and nodding. He patted my shoulder, giving me a look that said _get it right or else; s_ omehow Jack still thinks he can intimidate us into keeping safe. With Ianto, it was just a quick clasp of fingers and a brush of lips on the back of the hand. The gesture was more romantic and intimate than a bag full of Mills and Boon paperbacks.

             We set out for Dynogoddeu with the sunrise. Ianto and Jack had shown up with coffee and an ample supply of fresh-baked banana and cinnamon muffins. We were out of the city and on the road to Pontypridd before the real morning traffic got started. From Pontypridd I followed Ianto’s directions and took a country road down past Graigwen and Ynysybwl. A couple of miles past that, he pointed to a dirt trail leading even further down.

             Tosh had been following the trip on the interactive map on her laptop. “Ianto, there’s nothing down there.”

             “What do you mean, Tosh?”

             “Well, look!  Some farms and then maybe another dirt road up to Ynysboeth.”

             Ianto seemed puzzled. “Tosh, I visited a couple of times with my tad. On the last trip I brought his ashes home. That’s the way to Dynogoddeu.”

             I Searched the area and twice in two days was left nearly sputtering. The road crossed a wooden bridge over a small stream and led down into a shadowed little valley hedged with large trees. About halfway between the bridge and the hedge someone had _kinked_ space to create a pocket of Reality. As far as I could See it extended for several miles in every direction.

             “No wonder it doesn’t show up on your map, Tosh. Dynogoddeu is not in Wales. It’s in Annwfn.”

             Ianto stared at me as if I’d grown horns. “What are you talking about?”

             “You heard me. I’ve never heard of this being done, ever.” I pulled up to one side of the trail and parked the SUV. “Ready for a hike?”

             “We can drive in,” Ianto said. “I’ve done it.”

             “Yes, and you’ve only seen the glamour. If we walk, you’ll see Reality.” I grabbed my sword. “It’ll be more dangerous, too. Maybe I should go…”

             “Ahead first?”  Ianto ended my sentence. “Dream on.”

             “All right. Tosh, lead. Ianto, in the middle. And don’t give me that look. At this point, we lose you we lose the whole match. Which may include the Earth.”

             He gave in grudgingly. We crossed the bridge single file. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew something would happen as soon as Ianto’s Binding came in contact with the wards Achren had placed around Dynogoddeu. I wasn’t disappointed. The moment we reached the other side of the bridge the wind kicked up, hammering us with rocks and branches. The tywyl wanted us beaten to a pulp before moving in and moping up.

             I shoved Tosh at Ianto. “Cover each other’s backs!”

             Nodding, they positioned themselves back to back. I Cast a shield over them; it wouldn’t stop the tywyl, but it would make them have to fight without magickal aid, and they were not that fond of taking on warriors armed with cold iron. As it started to pulsate, the wind died down and there was nothing, not even the sound of birds, to break the silence. I stood just outside the shield, sword drawn, waiting.

             Suddenly I remembered something my father had taught me when I was very small. The littlest magick, he called it. I switched my sword to my left hand and started to Cast with my right. As I moved my fingers tiny water spouts started kicking up from the stream, shooting off in every direction. It was a provocation, nothing more, but it did succeed.

             They swept in, screeching in their thin, raspy voices. I waited until the last minute, then rolled under the shield and stood, back against Ianto and Tosh. We were now three, facing in three different directions, one of the most powerful of battle magicks. I fed power into the configuration and felt Ianto’s geas reach out to reinforce it.

             The tywyl crashed into the shield. I had no time to look at the others; I had to trust their training would hold. Soon green and gold ichor ran down the blade to make my grip dangerously slippery. I heard Ianto grunt once and there was a sprinkling of red mixed in with the green and gold. And the tywyl kept coming. Sweat plastered my jumper to my back. My arms were getting heavy and my muscles ached. My whole world had narrowed down to cut, slash, parry, cut. Just when I thought I couldn’t hold any longer, there was a whistling high over the trees. It repeated once, twice, three times. The tywyl cowered. We waited, still at the ready, not daring to relax.

             A young woman appeared at the side of the trail. She was a little taller than Tosh, with a figure that curved in all the right places, and long, flowing dark hair. She seemed familiar. The tywyl flew high up and circled, but did not dare attack.

             “Leave.” Her voice was low and soft; one had to strain to hear her. “You aren’t welcome here. He is not for you, nor is his child.”

             “We’ll see. We’ll see. The darkness is coming and then we’ll see.”

             “Maybe so, but not today. Go!”

             The tywyl disappeared, leaving behind their usual debris. The young woman came closer. Now, when I could see her face, the deep blue eyes that looked a thousand years old, I knew why she was familiar.

             She looked like Ianto.


	9. Chapter 9

            “Angie?” Ianto was leaning on the staff, trying to catch his breath. “What are you doing here?”

             “Waiting for you.”

             She wrapped her arms around his waist and hung on. He used his free hand to pull her tight and bury his face in her hair. Tosh and I exchanged a raised-eyebrow look.

             “I tried to find you, after Tad…”

             “I know. I don’t think you were supposed to.” She pulled away, patting his shoulders and then his cheeks. “Come on. We need to look at your ribs.”

             She kept one arm around his waist. Ianto seemed almost in shock. I think he had forgotten Tosh and I were there until they turned and he saw us staring at the two of them.

             “Ah… Tosh, Andy… this is my sister Angharad. Angie,” he waved the staff in our direction” this is Tosh… Toshiko Sato… and Andy Davidson.”

             “I know. Hello, Tosh, nice to meet you at last.” She smiled at me, looking remarkably like Ianto at his snarkiest, and curtsied. “Your Majesty.”

             I winced. The clever wench had just taken all the attention off herself and hung the bull’s eye right back around my neck.

             “It’s a family… thing,” I said to Tosh and Ianto, sounding lame even to myself. “It hasn’t been relevant in thousands of years. We can talk about it later, all right? Let’s get you both somewhere safe. Miss Jones, you know the way.”

             “Yes, Sire.” She giggled at my scowl. “If you are going to be formal, I’ll have to be formal.”

             “All right, Angie it is. Go, you cheeky brat!”

             She set down the path, holding on to Ianto’s hand. Tosh followed them, scurrying past me with her eyes down. I brought up the rear, thinking fast. I had been hoping I could get this thing under control without having to reveal more about myself than I had to. Foolishness. Mum had a saying, _what’s bred in the bone will out in the flesh_. Can’t hide who you are, because your own nature will betray you. Or your own history.

             I waited until we were inside Reality, and then tapped Tosh on the shoulder. She jumped, bringing up her katana as she moved away.

             “Tosh, it’s just me. Andy. We fight over what movie to watch and who gets the last slice of pizza. You’ve taught me how to use a computer without making an ass of myself. I… care about you very much. You _know_ me.”

             “Do I?” She pulled out a cloth and started to clean her blade, keeping her eyes down. “Three days ago, I would have said so. “Now? I did a little research last night. Wales is full of stories of the Tylwyth Teg. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? I looked up Achren. I’ll bet my next paycheck that your family is tied to half of the great Welsh myths. And now… how old are you, Andy?”

             “Huh? What does that have to do with…?”

             “How old are you, Andy?”

             “One hundred and sixty six. I am the last born of my people.” I made a face. “The baby.”

             She gave me a tiny smile but didn’t stop the interrogation. “How long will you live?”

             “Tosh…”

             “How long, Andy?”

             “Barring accident or killing, around ten thousand Earth years.” I took the cloth out of her hand. “Does it matter? Look at Jack and Ianto. They’ll have only a few decades, but they don’t let that stop them.”

             “Is that what you want, Andy? A few decades?”

             “I want whatever you will give me.”

             She studied me for what felt like a hundred years. I waited, trying my damndest not to push. Then, slowly, she leaned in and pressed her lips to mine. I made sure both swords were out of the way before kissing back.

             Tosh kisses the same way she hacks super-encrypted computer systems: thoroughly and with superb artistry.

             We could have happily kept going but we were interrupted. “I’m sure I can speak for Jack when I say we’re overjoyed you two have finally stopped dancing around each other, but would you mind tabling the… ah… discussion,… for a bit? My side hurts, I’m hungry, and I’m still owed a few explanations.”

             I gave Ianto a dirty look. “The Jones family is going to be a pain in my arse for the duration, isn’t it?”

             “We can only devoutly hope.” The cheeky grin turned into a grimace and he pressed his palm against his ribs. “I don’t think it’s very far.”

             The trail wove through a belt of tall trees that served as a hedge. Beyond that, it skirted a wildflower meadow until it reached a small group of white-washed cottages clustered around a tiny green where a small slate roofed structure protected a pool filled with sparkling silver water. The cottages were surrounded by gardens where all kinds of flowers bloomed in blithe disrespect for season or hardiness zones.

             “It looks the same,” Ianto murmured, “but not. I remember the well, but the water was brackish then. And I don’t remember the meadow at all. And the gardens!”

             “When you were here last, you saw what Achren wanted you to see,” I said. “It’s what any tourist would see. A picturesque little hamlet worth an hour or so of picture taking, maybe a quick one at the local pub and then off you go again looking for better views. What you’re seeing now is what is real.”

             Angie led us across the green towards a large cottage set slightly apart from the others. As we passed, people stopped what they were doing to gape, startled looks on their faces. Several of them bowed slightly towards us. Tosh giggled.

             “Is it like that everywhere you go in this… what do you call it? Reality?”

             “I’m not here very often,” I said. “But… never mind.”

             I didn’t want to talk about it just yet, but there was something odd about those bows. Some of them were directed at me; I’m not exactly unknown among my clan, and the more traditionally inclined still follow the old ways. But there was more to it than that. Court protocol prescribes a certain behavior when someone meets more than one member of the family, and that was what I was seeing. They weren’t just bowing to me. They were bowing to _us._ Specifically, they were bowing to Ianto.


	10. Chapter 10

             When we got to the cottage Angie shooed Tosh off to the bathroom for a hot bath while she checked on Ianto. After making sure that all he had were bruised ribs and a few shallow cuts on his forearm, which she quickly cleaned and bandaged, she handed us each a towel and a clean t-shirt and pointed us in the direction of the garden pump.

             The water was chilly and by the time we had gotten ourselves cleaned up and dried we were both shivering. Angie, bless her soul, was waiting for us back in the kitchen with hot coffee and a pot of soup simmering on the stove. I slumped down at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a steaming mug, watching Ianto sniff curiously at the coffee. I took a sip.

             “Another Torchwood theory confirmed,” I said, taking another as the wonderful warmth sank in and spread, “there is a Jones coffee gene.”

             Angie snickered. “Of course there is. Did you think… there you are, Tosh. I was beginning to think that you had fallen asleep in the tub.”

             I looked over my shoulder and my breath seized.

             Tosh was wearing an unbelted llaeswisg in a deep green edged in gold at the lower and upper hems. The flower-and-leaves necklace she usually wore – a gift from her friend Hame – nestled elegantly in the scoop of the neckline. Angie had even provided matching sandals that peeked out from under the fabric pooling at her feet. She looked every inch the perfect Tylwyth lady ready to receive guests.

             I stood up and pulled out the chair next to mine. “You look gorgeous.”

             She smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

             When she came closer I noticed that the robe’s gold trim was embroidered with bluebells and primroses picked out in gold thread, and the shoulder pins were in the shape of harps. I aimed a nasty look at Angie and got back a tiny little smirk and eye-roll.

             Was _everyone_ around me turning matchmaker?

             Angie ladled out the soup; there was bread, butter, and fruit on the table. Suddenly I was starving, and by the way they were wolfing down the soup, Ianto and Tosh felt the same. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I had dodged the inquisition, but I was glad to have postponed it for a while.

             Angie’s little trick had set me to rehashing the same old question I kept asking myself. Did I have the right to ask Tosh to marry me? I knew that I had much less to offer her than I would be taking away. She had faced down horrors I could only imagine. She had travelled the Universe with a being whose word could topple empires, and I knew she had a standing invitation to do it again. If we married she would be bound to an alien culture, tied to this little backwater planet for the rest of her life. And worse, she would see herself grow old while her husband never changed.

             “Andy? Andy?”

             I looked up to find the others staring at me. I realized Ianto had been trying to get my attention for a while.  “I believe I said explanations were due.”

             I took a big breath and let it out slowly. “My people believe all the Universes were born from the same primordial energy. This energy is the binding agent of time and space. It infuses everything and can be tapped into in many different ways. These ways were encoded into each Universe very early in its evolution. In some you must release the energy using physical methods: electricity, nuclear power, gravity. In others you can use more elemental ways and tap into it directly. In some very, very few cases the Universe will partake of both. Ours was one of them. This is another.”

             “That’s why your people came here,” Tosh mused.

             “When you are born into a dual energy Universe your cells require both to survive. Physical and elemental cannot be separated and must always be in balance. Terrible things happen if they aren’t.”

             “That’s very interesting.” Ianto neatly peeled and sectioned an orange. “But it doesn’t explain about your… title?”

             “Actually, it does. Some people are born with the ability to prevent the primordial energy from becoming unbalanced. It’s an unusual talent and one that runs in families. Thousands of years before we came here my people had developed a ritual that harnessed that ability to cleanse and purify the energy and allow its manifestations to reach perfect equilibrium.”

             “You can do that?”

             I shook my head. “Not by myself. I have a marked affinity for elemental energy and much less for the physical. In order for the ritual to work, another man is necessary. Someone whose talent is the mirror image of mine.”

             “Man? No women allowed?” Tosh asked a trifle acidly.

             “It’s not a sexist thing, Tosh. We tried once. It was a disaster. The Rift cracked wide open. There were ice storms in summer and sudden thaws in winter. Crops failed and what managed to grow was trampled in the battles to contain what came through the Rift. It only ended when my clan grandfather, my grandmother’s father, sacrificed himself to rebalance the energy. I am named after him.”

             “Andrew?” Ianto asked.

             “Andrew is my human name. Among my people I am Avallach, son of Gwythyr,  son of Urien, direct descendant of the Lady Modron, daughter of Avallach, Eldest of the Tylwyth Teg until his death in battle against the Beast’s child.”

             Ianto sat back, chewing his orange sections thoughtfully, saying nothing, but it was clear he was adding two and two and coming up with a reasonable facsimile of four. Tosh had that faintly mulish look that told me she had sunk her teeth into something and wasn’t about to let go.

             “It had nothing to do with intellect or innate ability, Tosh.” I told her. “The people performing the ritual thought they would be able to overcome the fact that the female system naturally carries an excess of elemental energy. It has to, otherwise it wouldn’t survive the energy drain during pregnancy and childbirth. It worked at first, but as she got tired, her natural energies reasserted themselves.”

             “Tired?” she asked.

             “The ritual involves combat,” Ianto said. “Two days a year, all day, sunrise to sunset. Which one are you, Andy?”

             There was no point in dissembling. “I am the Summer King.”

             “Who is the Winter King, then?”

             And suddenly I knew. It was the reason for the beldames’ reluctance to discuss Achren’s quarrel with her family; my grandmother’s reticence; the tywyl’s attacks; and the bowing from the people of Dynogoddeu. I looked at Angie, who was smiling, amused and proud.

             “You are, Ianto. Or at least, you were supposed to be.” I laughed at his horrified expression. “Aunt Achren really did let the cat loose in the hen house, didn’t she?”

             “She will be pleased you approve,” Angie said. “We should get started. She’s waiting for you. All of you.”


	11. Chapter 11

            For a wild-eyed radical, Achren lived such a conspicuously traditional life that it didn’t take any skill at detecting subtlety to recognize the insult. In the tradition of Tylwyth ascetic warriors she had set up housekeeping in a cave halfway up the hill from the village. A few steps from the mouth of the cave a stream of clear, cold water splashed out of a crevice in the rock and flowed into a natural basin a few feet below. I would bet my Torchwood pension it was the same that resurfaced to fill the well in the town green.

             Angie had changed into a gown like the one Tosh wore, except that it was a dull gold shot through with green thread and its only ornaments were a pair of shoulder pins in the shape of Welsh dragons. She had taught Tosh how to raise the gown’s hem so she could walk properly. Their conspiratorial giggling was making me a little nervous; too much bonding there and I would be outflanked by the Tylwyth ladies.

              Now she pressed her palm against a nearly invisible depression on the rock next to the cave’s mouth. I felt a slight Unlocking as the protective wards came down; interestingly, Ianto flinched at the same time. A physical reaction to wards is a classic sign of an untrained affinity to magick. 

             We followed Angie into a narrow passageway that slanted slightly downwards and ended abruptly in a vaulted chamber lit by rock crystal globes floating at different heights.

             “Wow,” Tosh whispered.

             “We call them stray cats because they will pick up your body heat and follow you from room to room,” I chuckled. “Your own personal spotlight.”

             “Egotists.”

             “Oh yes, that we are.”

             The chamber was furnished plainly: a bed, a table that served both as a desk and for eating, a small cooking area, and several comfortable-looking armchairs grouped around an open firepit. Everything was set out according to ritual, right down to the harp and sword banner hanging behind the largest armchair.

             To be fair, she had not received us in state; she was standing at the table, putting the final touches on a tea tray, and she wore a gown very similar to Tosh’s and Angie’s, but in pure unrelieved black. Even her shoulder pins were carved jet.

             She looked like grandmother.

             Why that should surprise me, I didn’t know. She was Modron’s younger sister, in human royal terms the spare, trained, as was expected by family tradition, to lead armies.  Both were powerful, and so certain of their power that they felt no need to reference it in any outward fashion. Achren was slightly taller and her hair was more auburn than roan, but the eyes were the same: old, wise, and very, very dangerous.

             “I am honored to meet you at last, my lady aunt,” I said in the most formal y-taffodh. “We come seeking advice and assistance.”

             “We will speak saesneg, as Toshiko and Ianto are not yet literate in the Tylwyth tongues.” She motioned to the armchairs. “Angharad, will you pour?”

             “Yes, Grandmother.”

             Achren must have noticed my surprise. “I have stood grandmother to the Jones clan for fifteen hundred years, nephew.”

             “Grandmother… and a bit more?” I hazarded.

             She inclined her head. “As you say.”

             “Forgive me my ignorance, ma’am, but why?” Ianto sounded uncharacteristically bewildered. “Andy seems to think you chose me to play the part of the Winter King in the purification ritual, but I don’t understand how it can be possible.”

             Achren gave him a gentle smile. “My dearest Ianto. I did not choose you to be the Winter King. I bred you. As to how it is possible… Shall you answer for me, nephew?”

             Ah. So I would also be tested. “The Kings need to have an affinity to both the physical and the elemental, but in different degrees.The Tylwyth are people of elemental energy. An affinity for the physical world is a very unusual thing with us. On the other hand, an affinity for the elemental world is very unusual thing with humans, at least in any useful fashion. I would think that you searched until you found a family that showed promise and then proceeded to fine tune their talent.  Fifteen hundred years is a reasonable time to expect results.”

             “So I’m some sort of experiment?”

             “I claim necessity, grandson.” Achren moved to stand directly in front of Ianto. “We lost almost everyone with the physical talents during our escape. Their bodies and minds were less able to tolerate the Road. By the time we settled we were down to one family. And then… illness, one we had never encountered before, and we were down to a single girl child. I was terrified. We were losing the only thing we knew could keep the Beast’s children in check.” She sighed. “I had noticed most of the humans we encountered could at least feel the workings of elemental energy, and there were enough myths around great sorcerers and magicians that I knew there was a good chance some could work with it. I looked for centuries, until I found your ultimate ancestor.”

              "Did grandfather Avallach know what you were doing?” I asked.

             “Oh, yes. So did your grandmother. We were desperate, nephew. And then the Beast’s child showed up. We attempted the ritual and it all fell to pieces. Father died in the final battle. Afterwards, the more conservative among us tried to… shut down the experiment. The Small Ones warned me and I took the family and fled. They laid down a false trail and Modron helped me create Dynogoddeu. She knew we would need a Winter King some day.”

             “We do now, aunt,” I said. “The Small Ones sense a Darkness moving on the Road.”

             “As do I. It is another of the Beast’s children.”

             “What does it want?”

             “I don’t know. Each is different. The one I fought in Tylwyth wanted to stop time and be in the same eternal minute. The one defeated by the Time traveler wanted to destroy all life, lest it destroy him…”

             “The Time traveler?” Ianto asked. “The Doctor fought one of these things?”

             “Yes. It named itself Sutekh the Destroyer. So has your husband. The thing Abbadon, who craved Death to fill his hunger, was a Beast’s child. We were lucky that time. Your husband’s eternal life was the perfect balance for eternal death. I don’t think we’re going to be this lucky again.”

             “Is there any way to find out more about this thing?”

             “You could ask the one who summoned him.” She waved her hand at the fire and the image of a white-haired, dapper man wearing an old-fashioned smoking jacket appeared. “I believe you know him.”

             “That we do,” Ianto said grimly. “Bilis Manger.”   


	12. Chapter 12

             The narrow silver ribbon meandered between hillock and forest, farm and town, following the valley towards the horizon.  From our vantage point atop Achren’s hill we could see where it merged with a much larger pewter ribbon that spilled out of sight into the lower valley on its way to the ocean.

             “What is it?” Toshiko asked.

             “It’s the Nant Clydach,” I told her. “The bigger one is the Taff. We’ll be in Cardiff in no time.”

             “I didn’t think you could use anything bigger than a canoe on the Clydach.”

             “There are boats and then there are boats. Ours should be getting here soon. Let’s go down.”

             She took my hand and we followed Angie and Ianto to the dock. Achren was already there. She wore the drab green tunic and trousers of a warrior, covered by the traditional plaid cloak. She had insisted we all wear them. I hadn’t really argued. The things had the almost-living feel common to all things crafted by the beldames’ own hands; only they knew how many protective magicks were woven among the threads. On the physical sense, the colors had been muted down to a mixture of green, brown, and grey that made them perfect camouflage if we had to go to ground.

             Besides, Achren had graciously allowed us to keep our own clothes, properly laundered, of course. 

             A soft whoosh and a rippling of light and our transportation arrived. Toshiko gave a little squeal then rounded back and clouted me one on the ear.

             “Oi! What was that for?” I asked, grinning like a fool.

             “You said a boat!”

             “Well, that’s what we call them!”

             The wedge-shaped platform rode the air a few inches above the water. It was made of molecular-memory steel coated with a thin layer of gold; it would take whatever shape and size was needed. Height and speed were controlled by huge sheets of spider web silk guided from four pilots’ stations near the prow. This particular boat was rigged to be crewed by Small Ones. There were only three of that kind in existence. The other two were in our family’s boat house.

             Tosh whispered something to Angie and whatever it was sent them into giggling fits.

             “What are you up to, you two?”

             “Tosh says…” Angie hiccupped then started again. “Tosh says if someone starts whingeing about _my preciousssss_ she’s getting off and hiking the rest of the way.”

             I looked around. There were four Small Ones manning the boat, a human king in disguise, a powerful… wizard, in human terms, and… an elf-prince… I threw my arms around both of them and howled.

             “All right, children, enough.” Aunt Achren used her most regal tone, but I could see a twinge of an upward curl on her lips. “Let’s get going.”

             Angie jumped gracefully onboard, followed by Tosh, who copied her movements perfectly. On the other hand, Ianto stumbled and had to be helped by one of the Small Ones. That was unusual; Ianto is the most graceful of men, and his training with the long staff should actually have improved on his natural ability. I took a closer look. He looked the same way he did whenever he had bad news and would rather chew his own arm off than talk about it.

             I waited until we were underway to approach him. “What’s going on, Ianto?”

             “I don’t know what you mean.”

             “Like hell. And we don’t have time, Ianto. If there’s something wrong, we need to know, or everything goes to hell. You know that.”

             “My eyes.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m getting these moments of double vision. Right now, I’m seeing a small town right over there” he pointed “and a road with several cars. I’m also seeing, right on top of it, a birch forest with a small trail leading into it and there are some people gathering something… why are you grinning like that?”

             “Because you’re turning out to be very talented… aunt Achren!” I waved her over. “Ianto’s seeing double.”

             Her self-satisfied little smirk, identical to the one often aimed in my direction by a certain Welshman, made me wonder if her connection to the Joneses was more than just stewardship. She put her hands on either side of Ianto’s temples, holding his head immobile. “This is going to be a bit bothersome, grandson. I am sorry.”

             I didn’t even try to stop her; she was far more powerful than I was and, in any case, it was essential for Ianto to be ready when the time came, and that meant having all his abilities fully functional. Instead I grabbed Ianto’s hands and squeezed hard, giving him something to concentrate on. Having gone through it, I knew it was more than a _bit bothersome_. It was going to be fucking agonizing. Over Achren’s shoulder I saw Angie take hold of Tosh.

 

            At first, there’s very little for an observer to see when someone is rearranging your brain. You become a little pale, your nostrils flare as you try to take a little more air to replace what’s being stolen, and your spine becomes rigid so it seems as if you were standing at attention. Then, slowly, slowly, your body arches and your mouth opens in a soundless wail that seems to never end. You are drawn up on your tip toes as every muscle in your legs seize. Blood seeps from under your eyelids and your nose. Tremors shake your whole frame until it looks like you’re going to fly apart. And then you collapse.

             What you feel is _fire_.

             I eased Ianto down to the deck.  Angie rushed over to kneel by his head. Tosh, fearless as always, squared off with Achren.

             “What did you do to him?”

             Achren accepted a piece of cloth from one of the Small Ones and wiped her hands. The cloth came away streaked with blood. “It needed to be done, niece.”

             Tosh looked at me accusingly. “You knew she was going to do this?”

             “I suspected, though I didn’t expect it quite so soon. Come sit here and I’ll explain.” She gave me a nasty look but sat down next to me. “If Ianto had been raised in Dynogoddeu, he would have learned to use his talents as he grew, like any normal child learns, say, Welsh or maths. Instead, they were pushed into the subconscious and blocked. It was a survival mechanism, because untrained power can kill you or drive you mad. Now it's all pouring back into his conscious mind. He’s _remembering_ thing he never learned and it’s playing hell with his whole system. What the Lady Achren did was to remove the blocks and rebuild the natural channels his talents need.”

             “It looked painful.”

             “That it was cariad, that it was.” I rubbed my own temple. “When they had to do it to me…”

             “Ymosodiad!”

             The shout came just ahead of the sound of sails being taken down. I looked up to see the Small Ones tying the ropes to the automatic controls and picking up their weapons. The Lady Achren had assumed her full Power: sword in hand, the air around coruscating with static electricity. Angie stood shield-maiden behind her and to her right.

             On the horizon, a roiling black cloud was moving towards us.


	13. Chapter 13

            _There were tywyl on one of our Paths._

             I was a bit surprised at how angry it made me. In the long battle between my grandmother and my father, I had, if I had ever thought about it at all, sided with my father. He believed that the Kingship was a hereditary office reflecting a long tradition of service, not an integral part of ourselves. Now, feeling energy flare around me without a Summoning, I realized grandmother had been right all along. Being the Summer King was not something you did; it was something you _were_.

             Ianto was still semi-conscious, but his breathing had eased. I tucked his cloak around him, making sure he was completely covered, then turned to look for Tosh. I needn’t have worried. She stood calmly, katana at the ready, a faint smile on her lips.

             She was going to make a hell of a Consort.

             “Tosh!” I motioned her over. “Ianto’s your responsibility. I know my way around the deck better.”

             She nodded. Impulsively I grabbed her around the waist and pulled her tight. “Are you going to marry me?”

             “Of course I am.” She pressed her lips to mine briefly. “Do I get a crown and everything?”

              “You do indeed. Wait ‘til you see it.”

             I kissed her again. The roll of thunder overhead made me smile into her mouth.

             “Accepted and witnessed,” aunt Achren said with a great deal of satisfaction. “We can celebrate later. Here they come.”

             As the cloud reached us we could see it was all debris: dirt, rotting leaves, small rocks. It looked bad and smelled worse. There was a horrible howling coming from it, more like animals being tortured than anything sentient. Achren waved her hand contemptuously and large swaths of it blew away, revealing several dozen tywyl hiding inside. The Small Ones moaned at the sight.

             It wasn’t fear; it was horror. The tywyl’s hands had been Bound to iron bars. Where the iron touched, their skin had shriveled away and wisps of greenish smoke wafted up. Blood dripped everywhere. Some were trying to shake the bars away but had only managed to dislocate their shoulders and elbows. Others tried to clumsily wield the bars like weapons and managed to smash into other tywyl. Whoever was doing this wanted them maddened, pushed beyond their fear of sword and magick.

             I opened up and Searched, reaching out carefully to scout the edges of the cloud. There was something there, something both human and alien. It prodded at the tywyl’s minds with bolts of icy fire that scoured their nerve endings. Whatever or whoever was driving them was doing something similar to what aunt Achren had done to Ianto, but using the equivalent of a club instead of a scalpel.

             The first wave hit us and we slashed away without any finesse. Some of the tywyl seemed to want nothing more than just to be free of the bars and threw themselves sideways at us, perhaps hoping the swords would shear off their hands. Others just swooped down, swinging wildly, smashing into other tywyl in their madness. It was butchery, not battle, but we kept at it grimly.

             I took a quick look at Toshiko. She was moving with the elegant precision of the samurai she was, and the space around her was wet with tywyl blood. One of them tried to get under her guard to reach Ianto. The katana sliced down and a head rolled on the deck. I gave her a brief salute which she returned with a smile.

             Out of the corner of my eye I saw Achren dodge a clump of tywyl, leaving Angie to deal with them. She jumped to the lower deck. The Small Ones stood back-to-back and were flinging Energy bolts about, aiming for the iron bars; when the bolt hit the iron it traveled downwards along the tywyl’s arms into their chests. Achren pulled one of them out the formation and whispered something. I saw the Small One nod.

             Achren started to swing the sword in broad moulinets, faster and faster until the blade was a flashing shadow. I realized she must have been using a form of Summons to move the sword; there was no way her wrist and elbows could pivot so rapidly. The flashes distracted the tywyl and gave them a target. They swarmed her. In the confusion, the Small One took a fast run across the deck and dove over the side, winking out before hitting the water. Someone was going for reinforcements.

             Whoever or whatever was driving the tywyl knew it too, because the icy fire became almost visible as it stabbed directly into their brains. The howls became deafening as they launched themselves at us even harder. By now we had to avoid tripping over the bodies that littered the deck. The stench of tywyl blood was making my stomach heave.

             Four of them came at me at the same time. Looking into their faces I realized that whatever sentience had been there was lost; they were past even animal reasoning. I used the flat of the blade on the first one, sending him sprawling to the lower deck and the dubious mercy of the Small Ones’ energy bolts. I ducked under the second one, raking its stomach open, and then chopped the third one’s hand off at the wrist. He howled and fled back into the cloud. There was a sound like someone putting chips into hot fat, and his burning body fell into the water.

             The fourth one stopped for a moment, almost as if trying to think, but his moment of clarity was short-lived. He flew down at me again, swinging the iron bar up and down in hammering motions. I kept weaving under the blows until I saw an opening and lunged, spitting him on the point of the sword and pinning him to the deck.  He writhed, trying to shake me off, but I held on until he went limp. I pulled the sword free and rested on it for a moment, trying to catch my breath.

             And then there was a shot behind me, and my heart stopped.

             I turned to see Toshiko slide down across Ianto’s body. The old tywyl who had challenged me at her place loomed over her, a Glock pistol in his hand. It hadn’t been Bound to him; he was holding cold steel willingly. He laughed at me.

             “Ah. Young One, you have been blooded enough, I see. Will you fight me now? Cold sharp steel against this?”

             I ignored his rants. My mind had narrowed down to that body on the deck. The sound seemed to have shocked the other tywyl back into sanity; they hovered above us, moaning low in terror. This was contrary to everything they believed, everything they held True.

             “Answer me, boy!” The old one raised the gun, aiming it at me. “You will give me the one I want. You will or I’ll keep…”

             He was silenced by an energy stream that caught him mid-chest and lifted him upwards until he looked the size of a small bird. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the stream cut off, and the tywyl plummeted down, screaming, to smash against the deck at my feet. I looked at the Small Ones, who broke their Link before saluting me, subject to King.

             I knelt next to Toshiko, moving her off Ianto and picking her up in my arms. She was still alive, but I could feel the Energy leaving her body. She tried to laugh. It turned into a cough.

             “What is it with me and timing?” She stroked my cheek gently. “I’m sorry, love. I don’t think…”

             “No! You are not dying on me, Toshiko Sato!”  But she was, and I knew it.

             Angie came to kneel behind me. “The hands of the King have the power to Heal.”

             I looked at her, startled. “That’s an old beldames’ tale.” I looked at Achren. “Isn’t it?”

             She shrugged. “I saw it work once, but it was an illness, not a wound. She is too far gone, nephew. I’m sorry.”

             “Like hell!”

             I pushed away Tosh’s cloak and tore her jumper. The bullet had entered right above her heart. I felt beneath her; there was an exit wound, but it felt huge under my fingers. I placed my hands over the entry wound. Taking a few deep breaths, I pushed everything else away, and tried to find the knowledge I didn’t have.

             It rose in my mind, clear and cold. I would have to use my own energy and risk draining myself. It should have scared me, the idea of going through life without the ever present hum of primordial Energy in my cells, but I was infinitely more scared of losing Tosh.  Closing my eyes, I started funneling energy into the wound.

             It felt like hours were passing. I heard others arrive; my grandmother’s voice, terrified, and my aunt’s, low and rumbling. Angie’s hands were on my shoulders, offering me support. I poured and poured but I could feel the Tosh’s life essence flickering down to nothing.

             Suddenly there was another pair of hands on mine. I looked up to see Ianto kneeling on Tosh’s other side.  “You can’t. You’re not strong enough.”

             “Fuck that. Concentrate.”

             At first there was nothing, and then a second Energy joined mine. Where mine was warm, this was cool. Where mine carried the scent of wildflowers, this carried the scent of freshly fallen snow. It lifted and strengthened mine, and the combination flowed into Tosh’s body, our life essences strengthening hers.

             Behind us the Small Ones started singing. It was the Cywydd of the Two Kings, and it hadn’t been heard for two thousand years. It was the first poem sung on the morning of the Battle and the last one sung in the evening. All the hopes of the Tylwyth for order and peace and beauty were carried in it. As it rose towards its crescendo, I felt Tosh’s chest heave as her eyes flew open. I pulled her to me and kissed her and felt her mouth move under mine.

             The song transposed into the triumphant Englynion of the Queen of Calan Haf. The Small Ones had given their approval to my marriage.


	14. Chapter 14

            We limped into the Hub after dark, tired, bruised, and reeking of tywyl blood. If anyone was foolish enough to entertain any doubts about Jack’s priorities, his reaction would have put paid to all of them; ignoring the presence of a squad of Small Ones in full battle gear, plus an assorted mob of Tylwyth and humans, all looking the worse for wear, he marched up to his husband and swept him into a tight embrace. Ianto wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist and sagged against him, finally giving in to exhaustion. Jack whispered something against Ianto’s neck that caused Ianto to chuckle and tighten his hold.

             I looked around. Rhys, Martha, and Euan still remained on alert at their assigned stations: Martha at the entrance to the medical bay, Euan on the stairs leading to the greenhouse, and Rhys next to the override switch that would seal off Archives and flood the lower tunnels with gas. I noticed that although their guns were pointing down, they hadn’t put the safeties back on. I waved them over.

             “Oi, you lot, come and meet the family.”

             “Perhaps you should also invite the one hidden up by the flying lizard’s nest,” Grandmother said mildly.  “He must be very uncomfortable by now.”

             I looked up to see John Hart step out on to the high catwalk. Even at that distance I could see his faint smirk. Captain Hart was a bit of a sore point with me; in spite of the help he had given us with the Archangel mess, every time I looked at him I saw Gwen bleeding out on the medical bay steps and half of Cardiff in ruins.

             “All right, everyone, stand down.” Jack turned back to the group but kept his fingers laced with Ianto’s. “John, you too.”

             I heard a gasp as Hart vaulted the catwalk railing and plummeted down to land in a graceful crouch on the open bridge between the greenhouse and the conference room. The second vault landed him at Angie’s feet. The sarcastic comment I was going to make went unsaid as I noticed her huge, shocked eyes as she looked down at him and his sudden stillness as he looked up at her. Behind me, I heard Achren’s soft, pleased sigh.

             “No, no, no, no, no,” I muttered, feeling once again like events were dragging me along without a by-your-leave. “This is absolutely not happening!”

             John stood up and moved to Euan’s side, but he never took his eyes off Angie or she off him. The whole thing was so obvious they might as well be sending up signal flares. I quirked an eyebrow at Ianto, who returned a grimace and a helpless shrug.

             I jumped into the awkward silence and made introductions all around. Martha bonded instantly with the ladies, and was fussed over by the Small Ones, who knew her as one of their beloved Will’s muses. Rhys and Euan, good Welshmen that they were, knew a bit about what they were getting into, and so were a bit more circumspect. They bowed to Grandmother and aunt Achren and accepted their blessings with proper respect… and proper distance. Hart copied them gesture for gesture, the cheeky bastard, and got pleased smiles in return.

             After the proprieties had been observed, Grandmother dismissed her bodyguard. Most of the Small Ones left with them, except for three of the ones dressed in brown and silver; after two millennia without their King they seemed a little reluctant to let him out of their sight. They hovered around Ianto and Jack, always within touching distance.

             I hadn’t been surprised when Grandmother’s retinue had included a contingent of Winter folk. Gossip being the best currency among the Small Ones, there was no way that aunt Achren’s messenger would have kept the news of the finding of the Winter King to himself. The people of Winter would have wanted to judge for themselves if the human being offered up as their sovereign passed muster. 

             After the Healing, they had taken over his care, as the Summer folk moved in to take care of Tosh and me.  Being as attuned to Energy as they were, they had grasped the range and depth of Ianto’s abilities immediately. Nobody could have missed the insufferably smug way they went about the business of caring for their King.

             Still, I had been wondering what the Winter folk would make of Jack. Robin had approved of him, but he belonged to himself and tended to see things in odd ways. There was some precedent for same-sex Consorts, but it was not common, since both the Tylwyth and the Small Ones considered royal lineages – _kings born from kings_ – essential to proper management of the primordial Energy. There were accounts of terrible battles over disputed Kingships in our earliest history and nobody wanted to entertain the notion now that we were at best a remnant population. Mind you, technically Rosie was descended from both Jack and Ianto, but I still worried about how the Winter folk would handle the information that their King was not likely to provide them with a direct heir.

             The answer seemed to be very well indeed.  One of them, a young female with beautiful violet eyes, seemed to assign herself to the role of Jack’s personal bodyguard. She was discreet about it, but several times I caught her sniffing at him the same way Robin had, and each time she ended up with a wide smile on her face.

             “Jack, we need to talk,” Ianto said. “We don’t have much time.”

             “What happened, Ianto?” Jack motioned us towards the sitting area. “We lost contact with you around midday. I was getting ready to head out when one of the… Small Ones… popped in here to tell us you were all fine and to sit tight and wait for you to get here. Somehow it wasn’t a very reassuring message.”

             “I’ll go and get us some drinks, shall I?” said Euan a bit nervously.

             “Don’t trouble yourself, Youngling,” the older of the Small Ones answered. “We will attend.”

             He whispered a few words and three beldames appeared carrying trays with full goblets and plates of fruit. I recognized two of them, very prominent ladies among the Winter folk, and if they had carried anything heavier than a rose in full bloom in the past five centuries I would eat my old police hat. The beldames wanted their own eye-witness testimony. The two younger bodyguards moved to relieve them of the trays immediately. Placing them on the coffee table, they started to distribute the goodies.

             Jack’s self-appointed bodyguard offered him a goblet, which he accepted with his usual flirtatious smile. “Thank you… I’m sorry, we have not been introduced. I’m Captain Jack Harkness, and you are?”

             “I am called Pansy, milord.” She blushed. “For human tongues anyway. My real name is…” she thrilled a long phrase that sounded to me like a combination of Italian, y-taffodh, and bird song.

             Jack grinned at her and thrilled back an even longer phrase. Every Small One in the room turned to look at him, shock on their faces. It didn’t sound exactly like what I was used to; for one, Jack’s voice was too deep to handle the upper registers of the bird song parts. But they certainly understood what he had said.

             “You speak the Small One’s language, Captain Harkness?” Grandmother asked. “It’s a very unusual skill. Even our best scholars can only manage a few phrases.”

             “When Pansy told me her name, I thought it sounded like the language of a people called the Ainai,” Jack answered easily. “Their home star went nova hundreds of thousands of years before humankind arose, but we’ve found extensive archives in the ruins of their colonies. There was a small one near my home town. Every Boeshane kid takes a crack at learning Ainai at some point. I won’t ever be fluent in it, it’s the kind of language that requires learning from childhood, but I can get by in it. Did you understand me, Pansy?”

             She curtsied. “Yes, milord. It has odd grammar and intonation, but it’s much like ours.”

             Jack took a sip of his drink, looked into the goblet with pure appreciation, and took a big swallow. “I’ve been drinking the wrong thing on this planet all along. Can we stock this, Ianto?”

             His husband gave him one of his patented eye-rolls. “I think that from now on, all you will need to do is ask, Jack.”

             Jack took yet another healthy mouthful and then set the goblet down. “All right… to business…”

             The Rift alarms blared. Tosh ran to her workstation and started doing whatever it is she does when she’s communing with Mainframe. “Big Rift opening, Jack.”

             “Where?”

             She punched a few more buttons. “It’s not in Cardiff… I’ve never seen anything like this before…Oh, God.” She looked up at us, eyes wide. “It’s over the farm, Jack. Over Woodstall.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merihim, the bringer of pestilence, appears in some demon lists. Did you know there were demon lists? The things you can find on the web!

            Tosh’s words hit me like a hammer. Because of the tywyl’s attacks had been focused on little Gwen I hadn’t even considered the possibility of the other children being in danger, but if we assumed the tywyl were merely Manger’s stalking horses, we were still in the dark about his real plans.

             Ianto was on his feet. “Jack, the girls…”

             “Are safe, cariad. We brought everyone to Cardiff. They’re at our house.” He reached for Ianto’s hand again. “It was John’s idea.”

             I looked at Hart. “How come?”

             He shrugged. “Call it professional expertise. When you remove all the… extraneous matter… what you have is someone targeting Jack. If he is any good, he would have researched his target thoroughly, looking for weaknesses and blind spots. Jack has only one. Family, loved ones. I simply suggested we… fortify the weak spot.”

             “I don’t know if I like me and mine being classified as extraneous matter,” I grumbled, “but you’re right. Now the question is why.”

              He grinned at me. “There was a time Jack had enemies like Wales has rain.”

             “Professional expertise?”

             “Personal experience.”

             “It would be.” I bit into a strawberry. “But if revenge is the motive, why did Manger wait so long? It’s been more than ten years. There must have been better opportunities, times when Torchwood and Jack were more vulnerable. Why wait until now?”

             “Bilis Manger?” Jack had turned icy. “He’s behind this?”

             “Yes. He Summoned whatever is on the Road. Speaking of which, did mainframe come up with anything?”

             “Yes.” Jack put the empty goblet back on the tray. “The temperature inside the Rift is rising and the regular little spikes and ripples are becoming more intense. Mainframe says it’s acting like a human body trying to fight an infection.”

             Grandmother and aunt Achren traded a quick look. To everyone else it probably meant nothing, but I had spent my childhood learning to read my grandmother’s reactions, down to the smallest gesture. Cold settled in the pit of my stomach.

             “Are you getting microbursts yet?” Grandmother asked.

             “According to the Rift scan logs, they started last night,” Tosh called from her workstation. “Only a few microns across, and just a few at a time, but mainframe predicts they will grow in size and frequency very quickly.”

             “Microbursts?” Martha had been nibbling grapes and taking in information in the way she usually did. “Like fever blisters or something?”

             “Very good, my dear,” Grandmother beamed. “As the energy gets hotter it becomes more and more unstable. It forms small bubbles. When the pressure inside the bubble gets high enough it pops. Think of soap bubbles.”

             “If you make a soap bubble big enough,” Rhys said very softly, “you can get soaked when it bursts.”

             “Yes.”

             “It sounds as if you ladies have encountered this before,” Jack said. “Care to enlighten us?”

             “A moment, Captain,” Achren answered. “What did you find in the Road, Captain Hart?”

             I gawped at Hart. “You went into the Rift? Willing?”

             “Somebody had to scout, Elf-Lord, and I have this handy little gadget,” he said, tapping his wrist band. He turned to my aunt. “How did you  know?”

             “I can smell it on you.”

             “Umm,” he sniffed at his sleeve. “I see what you mean. Well. The thing heading toward us is…” he seemed to search for the right word, “corrupt. I couldn’t distinguish physical characteristics, but that might have been a function of the Rift’s distortion fields. All I could see was a greenish cloud that stank like the corpses left unburied after a thousand battles. Does that make sense to you?”

             “Oh yes.” Achren rubbed her eyes. “Merihim. Bringer of pestilence. We encountered him once.”

             “How did you beat him?” Ianto asked.

             “We didn’t. You have to understand. It’s not a matter of fighting. Merihim isn’t a warrior. He’s a living poison. All he needs to do is touch a planet’s atmosphere and everything starts to die. Every disease becomes a pandemic and every minor rot becomes massive putrefaction.” She sighed. “The worst is he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Merihim has the mental capacity of a three-year-old.”

             “Duw,” Rhys whispered.

             “All right, change the question.” Ianto persisted. “How did you survive him?”

             “Think about it. Disease cannot enter a healthy body and if it does, the body’s own defenses fight it off. We prided ourselves in maintaining our planet.”

             Hart groaned. “We are well and truly… ah… in trouble.”

             “What do you mean?”

             “No offense, Martha, but this is the most unbalanced planet I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been to Freemen’s Swamp. Earth is riding on the edge of ecological disaster. Its people seem bound and determined to tear themselves apart over stupid differences. You’ve survived multiple almost-Armageddons only because a powerful time traveler has taken a fancy to you. Even then the only reason this place is not a slag heap is due to people like you and Jack who keep on fighting. You buy time for humanity.” He waved in our direction. “With a little invisible help, I guess.”

             “So you’re saying there’s no way to stop this… Merihim thing?” Rhys asked.

             “I think, maybe,” Euan spoke up for the very first time, “we can’t really tell what we can or cannot do until we talk to this Manger chap.”

             “Out of the mouths of babes,” Grandmother said. “We must need locate the gentleman. Do we know where he is?”

             “No. He disappeared after Abbadon was destroyed,” Ianto answered. “We tried to find him after Jack left. Gwen thought he might have had something to do with Jack’s disappearance. Owen and I visited the shop. It looked as if no one had been there for years. Dust and spider webs everywhere.”

             “If what we know of him still holds,” Jack said, “he can hide anywhere in time.”

             “There’s nowhere he can hide we cannot find him,” the senior Small One said. “Do not trouble yourselves, Your Majesty, my Lord Consort. We will bring this person to you.”          


	16. Second Interlude

            Jack stripped off his jumper. “So, you’re the Winter King? And I’m what?”

             Ianto, nude as usual – one of the things Jack loved about Ianto was his willingness to be as uninhibited in private as he was prim in public-- stood behind Jack and put his arms around his husband’s waist, kissing the sensitive skin behind Jack’s ear. “I believe the proper title is Lord Consort.”

             “Do consorts get a crown?”

             Ianto bit down on Jack’s earlobe and then soothed the tiny hurt with his tongue. “Andy said that was the first thing Tosh asked.”

             “Of course she would, the greedy minx.” Jack turned to face Ianto and shook a mock-threatening finger under his nose. “All I have to say is my crown better be nicer than hers or there shall be words.”

             By the time Jack had finished speaking they were both howling with laughter. Ianto’s whole body shook, and Jack realized that he was tipping over into hysteria. He wrapped Ianto in a bear hug and rocked him as if he were one of their children.

             “It wasn’t _that_ funny,” he whispered in Ianto’s ear.

             “I know,” Ianto hiccupped. Jack noticed with amusement that he sounded exactly like Rosie after one of her tantrums. “It’s just… it’s been one hell of a day. I left Cardiff this morning Ianto Jones, son of a master tailor and a schoolteacher from a nowhere little town in the Valleys and I returned the end product of millennia of genetic manipulation by an alien sorceress for the explicit purpose of maintaining this Universe’s stability through ritual combat.”

             “Hell of a concept. But... I understand, cariad.”

             “You’d be the only one who could,” Ianto pulled Jack tighter, sniffing and licking at his neck like an overeager puppy. “That’s what held me together. I kept thinking _once I get home I can tell Jack and he’ll know exactly how I feel._ ”

             Jack cupped Ianto’s head between his palms and used his thumbs to push Ianto’s chin up so he could plant soft butterfly kisses on his husband’s lips.

             “Sometimes, when I’m at my mushiest,” he whispered. “I think that when the Vortex changed me it compensated by bringing you to me.”

             Ianto laughed. “What a gift. Half-broken and full of secrets.”

             “Who better? I was in pieces too. We needed each other. And then we wanted each other. And then we couldn’t do without each other.”  He brushed his lips across Ianto’s, increasing the pressure slowly, taking quick licks at the corners of Ianto’s mouth. “And then we loved each other. In spite of everything.”

             Ianto answered with his hands. Unzipping Jack’s trousers, he pushed them down to his ankles and eased them over his bare feet. As usual, his husband hadn’t felt a need for pants. Jack was hard already. Snickering under his breath, Ianto swooped in and swallowed him, cupping Jack’s arse in his palms to hold him in place and sucking hard. Jack moaned, head lolling back, flailing a little before gripping Ianto’s hair and holding on. The tiny pain only made Ianto more determined. He worked his lip-covered teeth along Jack’s shaft until only the bulbous head remained inside his mouth, then moved in again. One hand came around to rub and squeeze Jack’s sac in exactly the way Ianto knew drove Jack half-insane.

             He didn’t have very long to wait.  Jack’s back arched almost to snapping point and his mouth opened in a silent scream as he came in Ianto’s mouth. His beautiful submission only made Ianto want, need, more. He stood up and dragged his husband to their bed.

             Jack found himself on his back, Ianto leaning over him. He loved it when Ianto was driven to take control of their lovemaking. It didn’t happen often; they had both grown to prefer long, leisurely bouts of give-and-take that built the fire up slowly. But sometimes he craved to give himself over, an offering of passion and trust, and let Ianto push them both.

             He closed his eyes and let it all be about feeling. The coolness of lube being spread between his arse cheeks; the sting of two fingers penetrating him; the sudden burst of lust as his prostate was caressed; the strain in his muscles as his legs were bent and spread until his knees were near his ears;the pressure as Ianto entered him; and finally, _finally_ , the heavy weight of Ianto’s body as it settled over him.

             “Look at me.”

             He opened his eyes. Ianto was smiling at him as he started to thrust slowly, trying for their usual rhythm, but Jack could see the effort it was taking him to hold back. He hooked his ankles around Ianto’s thighs.

             “Come on. Now. All of it. I want it, Ianto. All of you.”

             “Always...Yours…” Each hard thrust was punctuated by words that seemed torn out of Ianto. “Forever… Always…”

             Jack ran his hands down Ianto’s arms and tangled their fingers together, palm to palm. Ianto pressed their joined hands on either side of Jack’s head and used them to brace himself as he thrust faster and harder. Jack growled and bit into his shoulder, squeezing his buttocks and legs to trap Ianto’s body inside and against his own.

             The pressure was enough to throw Ianto into orgasm. He held himself buried deeply in Jack’s body  as he spasmed. The delicious sense of being filled up triggered an answering spasm in Jack and he moaned long and low as he came again.

             After a while, Ianto started to shift, only to be held tighter as Jack refused to let him move away.

             “Your legs are going to cramp, cariad,” he told his husband. “Let me clean you up and I’ll cuddle you until you fall asleep.”

             Reluctantly, Jack unwound his legs, wincing as his muscles complained. “I’ll take you up on that. Ouch. I’m not as flexible as I used to be.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “There it is again.”

             “What?”

             “The charm Puck gave me. It glows from time to time.”

             Ianto returned from the bathroom with a moist hand towel and wiped down Jack’s chest and thighs. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”

             “I had mainframe look at it this afternoon and she says no. Just a nicely carved bit of shell with an odd bit of residual energy, probably from Puck himself.” Jack stretched and yawned. “I’m actually tired.”

             Ianto slid into bed and pulled the duvet over them. Cradling Jack in his arms, he kissed his husband gently. “Sleep, cariad. We need to be ready tomorrow."


	17. Chapter 17

             I woke up with the sunrise, as all Tylwyth do. A weak gray light and the roll of thunder in the distance announced a stormy morning. I sent off mental good wishes to the poor sods in the Cardiff Division constabulary whose job it would be to unsnarl rush hour traffic. One upon a time it had been my job – mine and Gwen’s.

             Gwen, who had gone from uniform to Torchwood in the blink of an eye. Resilient, caring Gwen, who had died to insure Cardiff’s survival, and who, according to Rhys, had used her last breath to mark John Hart’s soul. Gwen, in whose memory I had joined Torchwood because I believed someone had to continue the fight. Gwen’s absence was a hole in all our hearts.

             “What are you thinking about?”

             I looked at Toshiko, sweetly sleep-rumpled and deliciously nude, and my heart turned over. In a way this was also a gift from Gwen. When he had offered me the job, Jack had told me he had been talking to Gwen about hiring more investigative-type staff, and had mentioned some retired UNIT personnel. Gwen had snorted and said _if it’s real coppers you want, look for people like Andy Davidson_. Less than three months later she was dead and he was offering me her job.

             “Gwen. How much I owe her for you. How much I miss her sometimes.”

             “Me too. We didn’t start out good, but we’d gotten pretty close by the time she died… oh!”

             “What is it?”

             “I just remembered. Right before John and Gray showed up, Gwen and I had been talking about you. She wanted to have a small dinner party, just the four of us. I think she was matchmaking a little.” She gave me a glorious smile. “Do you think it would have worked?”

             “Probably not. I had a crush on her and you had one on Owen.” I hauled her atop me so I could kiss her. “Or maybe we would have heard the bluebells anyway.”

             She straddled me at hip level and rocked gently. “Heard the bluebells?”

             “You evil woman… In Tylwyth there was a flower that looked much like a bluebell, but the ovary was a rigid tube that produced a musical… stop that, you little devil… musical note when air entered it. During marriage season the fields would be full of gwrm’yn playing their tunes in the breeze. Grandmother told me… I’m giving you two decades to stop that… the beldames wept with joy when they saw bluebells for the first time. We still prefer to marry during bluebell season…. _Tosh_!”

             When we woke up the next time, rain was lashing the bedroom windows and my cell phone was ringing. I snagged it off the bedside table.

             “Andy Davidson.”

             “Mr. Davidson, this is Sally Christie at St. Teilo’s School. You asked me to tell you when the headmistress returned from her conference. She’s back and I’ve taken the liberty to speak to her on your behalf. She says she can see you in about an hour. Is that acceptable?”

             “Absolutely. Thank you. We’ll be right there.”

             We showered and dressed in record time. I had stayed the night at Tosh’s flat, but the Small Ones had taken it upon themselves to provide me with clean clothes and all manner of necessities, like a toothbrush and a razor. I had spent most of my adult life trying to avoid the entanglement of retainers, but I had to admit it had its advantages.

             The drive to Saint Teilo’s was no more unpleasant than rain and the usual mad driving of the locals could make it; in other words we escaped disaster several times by the skin of our teeth. Parking was no problem. Mrs. Christie had left instructions that we could use the staff lot, and close enough to the door to let us avoid a soaking. She was waiting for us just inside and led us to the Headmistress’ office.

             I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was not what I found. Mrs. Christie was the spitting image of the secretary at my old secondary school, bun-haired, full of vinegar, and taking no liberties from any snot-nosed student or professor that crossed her path. I assumed Mrs. Merrill to be of the same imperious sort. Instead I was greeted by a tall, willowy woman just on the far border of middle age, with exquisite chocolate skin and a face that reminded me of an African sculpture. In fact, she reminded me of Martha’s mother, Francine.

             “Thank you for seeing us, Mrs. Merrill. This is my associate, Toshiko Sato.”

             “I am most concerned about the message you left with Sallie, or rather, about the message you did _not_ leave. Sallie is expert at reading between the lines. Torchwood thinks there’s a problem with one of our students.”

             “Yes, ma’am. What can you tell us about a student named Jasmine Pierce? She registered recently and has become very friendly with Gwen Harkness-Jones.”

             She sat back, but noticeably did not relax. “We do not have a student named Jasmine Pierce, Mr. Davidson. We have, or rather, did have, one named Jasmine Pilgrim. As you say, a friend of Gwen.”

             “Pilgrim?”

             “Yes. She was registered by her aunt, Susan Pilgrim. She’s a UNIT administrator recently transferred here from London. Yesterday Ms. Pilgrim came and took Jasmine out of class. She told Sallie there was a family emergency and she didn’t know when they would be back.”

             “Is there anything else you can tell us about her, Mrs. Merrill?” Toshiko said, noticing the headmistress’ reluctance. “For Gwen’s sake. It’s very important.”

             “I didn’t have much interaction with her, but… “ She flicked on her intercom. “Sallie, would you come in, please?”

             Mrs. Christie walked in, her usual I’m-not-interested-in-this-silliness expression firmly in place, but there was a glitter in her eyes that told me she was dying to have an excuse to talk.

             “Ms. Pilgrim would talk with Sallie from time to time.” She gestured to the other woman. “Would you tell Mr. Davidson and Miss Sato about Ms. Pilgrim, Sallie?”

             “Surely. She was always pleasant and businesslike, except she had a religious bee in her bonnet. She kept inviting me to some sort of meeting, sounded more like self-help claptrap if you ask me. Told me I needed to accept the great unknown and open my heart and all sorts of silly things. And me the granddaughter and grandniece of moderators, I ask you, attending chapel every blessed Sunday.” She shook her head. “And it wasn’t catching close to home either, I can tell you. Jasmine used to make faces behind her back when she was off in one of her preaching fits.”

             “Thank you, Mrs. Christie.” Tosh stood up abruptly. “I think we got what we came for. Thank you so much.”

             She nearly dragged me out of the office, under the interested gazes of the Headmistress and her secretary. I followed her meekly, but half-way to the car my usual bloody-mindedness reasserted itself and I dug in my heels.

             “Tosh? You want to tell me what’s going on?”

             “Suzie Costello, that’s what’s going on.” She sounded positively venomous.

             “How could… Suzie have done anything?” I was utterly at sea. “Isn’t she dead?”

             “Well, that didn’t stop her the first time, did it?” She pulled me to the car and nearly shoved me into the driver’s seat. “You’ve read the files, right? Do you remember the name of the group Suzie was attending before she killed herself?”

             I sat up, jolted. “Pilgrim.”

             “Yeah. Pilgrim. And right before she died the second time she told Jack something in the darkness was coming for him.” 


	18. Chapter 18

           “Suzie?”

             In other circumstances I would have enjoyed Jack’s befuddlement, except that I felt essentially the same way. Suzie Costello’s body had been cremated and the ashes buried at St Winefride’s, the Torchwood cemetery at Gwaelod-y-Garth. Of that, there was no doubt; Ianto and Jack had done the job themselves.  So even if Suzie’s spirit were willing, the flesh was most certainly absent. On the other hand, she had earned her reputation for planning ahead, so it was possible she had left Jack another little present. The first one had driven a man to become a serial killer. Sweet girl, our Suzie.

             “I see the logic of it,” Ianto said. “At the end, Suzie was… powered by hate. But how? And why now?”

             “Let me add another one. Who? Something Suzie did before she killed herself triggered these events more than ten years later. She couldn’t have planned it in detail. I’m certain she didn’t know about my people; we’ve kept a pretty close eye on Torchwood from the day it set up housekeeping. So who’s doing her work for her?”

             “Susan Creevey,” Tosh answered, waving a bunch of printouts as she charged toward us. “She was one of the founding members of Pilgrim. UNIT administrative boffin, fast-tracked to the top of the heap, until something happened. Discharged with full pension and benefits, but there’s nothing in her records to indicate why. And I’ve dug as far down as it goes.”

             “Do we know at least when the something happened?”

             “There’s no actual last-day-at-work date on file. She started collecting her pension, let me see…” she looked up at us, wide-eyed, “two weeks after we dealt with the Archangel mess.”

             “That’s not a coincidence,” I said. “What kind of administration did she do?”

             “Logistics, specializing in troop support. She was in charge of the Wales division.”  She flipped through the papers in her hand. “She was coordinating officer during the operations at the mine, Jack.”

             “So she knew what was happening as soon as it did,” Ianto said. “Could something there have triggered her?”

             “We need more information,” Jack said. “There’s always something someone did not write down. I’ll get on the phone. I think Albert will be more than willing to give us a hand.”

             He bounded off to his office, followed by Ianto at a more sedate pace. Colonel Albert Alastair Gordon, nephew of Jack’s old friend Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, and a sort of godson to Jack, was the UNIT commanding officer for Wales. The man had a reputation for being the sort who grabbed on to something and worried it to death if need be. I was sure Jack would get his information.

             Tosh plopped down on the chair next to mine. “Now what?”

             “Now we make sure the other pilgrims are not involved in any way. Just in case. I’ll take the others.”

             We worked side by side, tracking down all the poor souls who had needed some sort of reassurance that there was a greater meaning to their lives and had ended up wandering close to that great black hole that was Suzie Costello. We couldn’t find anything that suggested any of them was involved. Most continued on their daily pace, still searching for that elusive something they needed; a couple had left the country, one to Australia and one to Spain. One had become, of all things, a military chaplain. After a couple of hours of work, the only question remaining was Susan Creevey.

             “All right,” Tosh said. “It’s her or we are being led down another blind alley. Now what?”

             “Now we find out everything about Susan Creevey, from the cradle.”

             Tosh grinned maniacally and assaulted her laptop with a series of commands. I left her at it and walked to the kitchenette to make some tea. Rhys and Euan were out to Tremorfa to see the local coppers about some artifact they had found. I looked in on Martha, who was elbow-deep into the medical database.

             “Hey, Muse. What are you looking at?”

             She made a rude sound. “Do you know I found a fresh bouquet of rosemary this morning on my desk? This one had the most beautiful dark-red carnations in it. I looked them up. He wrote about them in The Winter’s Tale: _The year growing ancient, not yet on summer’s death nor on the birth of trembling winter, the fairest flowers o’ the season are our carnations_ … Am I going to keep getting presents like this?”

             “I should think so. The Small Ones have long memories and they loved Will Shakespeare with a passion. So, what are you looking at?”

             “Suzie’s medical records. Right after her first death, Owen ran a complete set of scans. There’s a large lesion in her brain. No medical reason for it. His report says it was from using the risen mitten but I’ve compared her scans to Gwen’s and hers show a similar lesion, but very small and in a totally different place. So I’m thinking, if the lession is due to using the mitten, maybe Suzie found another use for the thing?”

             “Where was the lesion?”

             “On the thalamus. It’s the part of the brain that collects all sensory input and sends it on to the cortex, but lately there’s been research that shows it’s a lot more than that.”

             “It is,” I told her. “If you checked out mine, without the glamour this time, you’d find that it’s very different from yours. We perceive certain things you don’t. Or most of you don’t, although some of you have the ability. Ianto’s is probably different, but much less than mine. In a medical scan it would appear as a harmless abnormality. My people believe it’s where Talent resides.”

             “You mean what we would call psychic ability?”

             “I suppose, though that is highly imprecise…”

             We were interrupted by a shout from Toshiko. Martha and I both rushed back to the main floor. Tosh stopped our questions with a raised hand.

             “Listen to this. It’s a psychologist’s report on an incident with Susan Creevey when she was eleven years old: _The child’s delusions center on the belief that she could speak to fairies. This in itself is not unusual in lonely children, especially those who have been wrenched from their familiar environments. What is unusual about Susan is that she believes the fairies refused to take her with them, and she has developed a hatred of anything which depicts them. Destroying the images was her idea of revenge._ ”

             “Well, that fits. Whoever Bound the tywyl to iron didn’t like them very much.”

             “There are ways to Bind tywyl?”

             “Yes, but they are fairly difficult and very, very dangerous. And you need to have some native Talent. Otherwise…” I shivered slightly. “The tywyl can be very inventive.”

             “Do you think Susan Creevey would have enough Talent to do it?”

             “Don’t know, but I would love to get a look at her thalamus.”

             “You might be able to,” Jack said from the top of the stairs. “They’re sending over all the paperwork on Susan Creevey. Emphasis on paper. There were some things that UNIT didn’t feel needed to be where any talented hacker would get at them. Should be here tonight.”

             “In the meantime…”

             The Cog door alarm blared as it rolled open to admit a troop of Small Ones. They were chivying Rhys and Euan along. They were both bleeding, but even from here I could tell it wasn’t dangerous.

             “Oi, mate!” Rhys shouted. “Could you tell your friends here that we’re ok?”

             “Well, technically, they’re Ianto’s friends. Winter colors. What happened?”

             “We were almost back here when this big wind came up. Rattled us around inside the SUV like peas in a can, and then we were in a ditch. Then suddenly, the little ones were there, and the wind was gone and next thing I knew we were right in front of the cog door. Hell of a rush, that trip.”

             “So,” Ianto said severely from his place behind Jack. “Did anyone think of the SUV?”


	19. Chapter 19

           “Fore hand ward! Thrust double! Ward to right! Thrust single!” Puck’s instructions were accompanied by sharp smacks to the back of the legs with the flat of his sword whenever we missed. “Lunge! Strike!”

             The Summer Folk had dragged me out of my comfortable bed and away from Toshiko an hour before sunrise. When we arrived at the practice field Ianto and his retainers were already there. He didn’t look any happier than I did.

             Puck was waiting in the middle of the field, a quarterstaff held in each hand. There was nothing of the _merry wanderer of the night_ about him. This was the Puck who had beaten magick into my stubborn heard when I was hell bent on proving myself unable to learn; the one who could stop a herd of charging elephants with a single glare.

             Our respective entourages herded us to our proper places then bowed and walked back to the perimeter and stood, arms-length apart, along the circle etched into the grass. I felt a faint stirring of energy as the magickal Circle was cast and sealed. I could see Ianto’s eyes widen as the Energy shift reached him.

             Puck handed us each a quarterstaff. “In the combat of kings, the physical duel is only the outward expression of the magickal battle which is in turn the metaphysickal representation of the Universal struggle for balance. Open your sense and See.”

             I went inwards then outwards, as I had been taught. Usually I could get glimpses of the ultimate Reality, but this time when my perception stabilized I saw it all. The physical everyday human earth and the shadow Annwfn both faded and the energy web that cradled them stood in sharp relief against utter darkness. I stood at a crossroads; what I could see of my energy body glowed the green of young apple trees. Opposite me, on the other side of the web, was a human-like figure that glowed white. Ianto.

             I wondered what he saw when he looked at me.

             “Focus on the lines. Truly See them.”

             As I studied the web I began to notice multiple frayings, darkened spots, nicks and even what seemed like open sores. In one area there was a huge blot where the lines were barely visible.

             “The battle is not a battle,” I heard Puck’s voice thundering inside my head,” but the restoration of balance. Each move one of you makes must be perfectly mirrored by the other, both in the physical and the magickal. Even the smallest success will improve the Balance. Low guard!”

             I soon found that trying to move simultaneously in two energy levels was probably the most difficult thing I had ever attempted. I stumbled several times before I caught the proper rhythm, but even then I was always half a step off. I was a bit chagrined to notice that the Ianto energy seemed to be having a much easier time of it, until I realized that Ianto, lacking formal magickal training, had simply chosen to trust his own energy to achieve proper balance, while I was trying to think through each movement – and I needed to react faster than I could think. Forcing away or reasoning away my training didn’t work. Finally, in utter frustration, I closed my eyes and emptied my mind as completely as I could.

             Suddenly I was moving easily, feet sliding surely over the grass, magick sliding easily along the paths laid down by the lines. I danced the nicks and frayings away and watched as Ianto mirrored my steps. As we moved, we left behind the healthy glow of balanced lines.

             We were at it for what seemed like hours. Each and every one of my muscles ached, and my legs burned from the blows from Puck’s sword. Each breath was a blast of burning air cauterizing my lungs and my physical senses seemed packed in gauze. But movement was easy and I felt as if I could dance forever. I was actually disappointed when I heard Pucks’ instruction to stop.

             When I regained my human senses, I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. I reached for Ianto and we supported each other as we gasped for air.

             “Bloody hell. That was marvelous. I think I’m going to faint.”

             His whisper forced a hysterical little giggle out of me. He snorted and then started giggling too. We slid to the grass, laughing like complete idiots.

             “Up, up!” Pansy stood above us, looking for all the world like a mother scolding her errant children. “Do your majesties wish to catch a chill from the wet grass?”

             We stumbled up, apologizing and laughing in equal measures. Pansy handed us towels the size of tablecloths and stood there as we dried off as best we could. Finally, she made a big circle around us and as she went a warm little breeze finished the job.

             “Thank you, Pansy. “

             Ianto took her hand and kissed it. She blushed a bright pink and curtsied. I could tell Ianto was going to have the Winter Folk wrapped around his little finger in no time. I would have to learn from him; faced with the same situation, I would have struggled to maintain the formality I had learned in my grandmother’s house instead of following my first impulse.

             A shout from the edge of the field caught our attention. Several of the Small Ones moved outwards, opening a gate in the Circle, and then closing it after a group of Winter Folk had pushed a man through. An old, man, lean to the point of skeletal, looking much the worse for wear, hair in disarray and clothes that would have been quite elegant at one time looking worn and dirty. I heard Ianto growl.

             “Bilis Manger?”

             “Indeed.” He waited until the man had been brought to him. “Mr. Manger. You look a bit down on your luck. Perhaps We can improve it.”

             “Do you think you impress me, boy?” The old man struggled to find a haughty tone but I could see fear hiding in his eyes. “I remember you when you were nothing but Harkness’s toy.”

             Ianto raised a hand to still the feral noise coming from the Small Ones. “Still am. He’s mine also. Works beautifully. But you, Mr. Manger, you have become nothing. Perhaps you should reflect on the advisability of meddling in the games of kings and gods. Quickly, though. We don’t have much time.”

             “I want to talk to Harkness!”

             “No. You will speak to us.” He pointed at me and then at himself. “We Rule here, Mr. Manger. You can have what we say you can, and you will lose what we decide you will. If we decided you would serve us better dead, you would be. Immediately and without mercy. Understood?” He waited until the old man nodded. “Tell us about Susan Creevey.”

             “She found me a few years ago. Her lover was dead. You didn’t know that, did you? Yes. She was Ms. Costello’s lover. They became involved a few weeks after Ms. Costello joined Pilgrim. Susan is a sensitive and Retcon didn’t work on her. When she confronted Ms. Costello, you colleague tried to use the resurrection gauntlet against her. It seems she had wanted to experiment on a living subject. But instead of killing her, the gauntlet activated Susan’s Talent and linked her to Ms. Costello. Love at first mind-rape, I suppose.”

             “And what did Susan Creevey want from you?” I asked.

             “Training. Assistance.” Manger shrugged. “Her Talent was running wild and turning on itself. And she wanted revenge. Captain Harkness had killed Ms. Costello a second time and because of the mind link, Susan had been present throughout.”

             “Jack said Suzie had mentioned a darkness coming for him…”

             “That was Susan. Her Talent is exceptional, really, but her personality is seriously damaged. She suffers from delusions of grandeur and is given to melodrama. She projected herself backwards into Ms. Costello’s mind to plant the threat. Useless bit of showboating.”

             “And you signed up with her, Manger?” I shook my head. “I would have thought you would run as fast as you could in the other direction.”

             “I should have, but what did I have left? My Lord was dead and his enemy stood triumphant. I wanted revenge too. I didn’t realize how mad she was until later. She kept me a prisoner in her house for years until she learned all I had to teach. A few weeks ago,  she forced me to Summon Merihim.” He extended his hands and we saw that the fingers were twisted and shattered. “She left me to die, but I managed to escape. I’ve been hiding in the weevil tunnels since. Now that there aren't nearly as many of them, it was the safest place.”


	20. Chapter 20

           “I’ll go around the back.” Ianto said. “Give me five minutes.”

            Susan Creevey had inherited a rather large bungalow out in Rumney, with a nice-sized garden and a rugby field directly behind its back gate. In the last decade the neighborhood had been overrun by the newly affluent, with their busy jobs, and their busy children attending the best public schools, and their even busier social lives, which meant the whole street was emptier of life than a graveyard at midnight. You could have staged the Six Nations championship match right on the field and not a single curtain would have twitched.

             We had taken Manger to the Hub, where he had taken up residence in a weevil cell guarded by Small Ones. The old man was either one of the world’s greatest actors or he had been truly shattered by his run-in with Susan Creevey. He sat quietly while Martha gave him a physical. I saw her wince a couple of times at the state of his hands, and she injected him with antibiotics and painkillers before she stashed him in the cell.  Rhys, with his usual matter-of-fact kindness, provided him with pillows, a blanket, and a cup of hot soup.

             While he was being treated by Martha, Manger had readily answered questions. He didn’t know the exact address of the place where he had been held, but he gave Tosh enough information to help her find it. Creevey’s house had been a bequest from a former music teacher who had sort of adopted her after Susan’s mother died and her father went on a gigantic self-pity binge that lasted several years. She had never changed the title deeds – and how she had managed that was a lovely bit of chicanery – so there was no direct link to her.

             After grabbing a bit of lunch, Ianto and I had driven out to the house.  The place had an odd look of neglect; odd because everything was absolutely regimental in its tidiness, down to the pansies lined up like little soldiers in the identical flowerbeds on either side of the front door and the ruthlessly mowed lawn. But there was something unhealthy about the whole place, something that irritated my senses, and I waited impatiently for Ianto, wanting to be as far away from the place as possible.

             My earpiece crackled. “Let’s go.”

             I traced an Opening sigil over the lock and the door swung quietly inward. I had taught Ianto the spell on the way to the house and he had learned it with ridiculous ease. We met in the corridor separating the kitchen and dining room from the reception rooms at the front.

             “There’s no one here, but…there’s something wrong,” he told me. “Something feels…”

             He was silenced abruptly by a howl coming from somewhere inside the house. The sound was followed by a weak gust of wind that seemed to be coming from underneath the rug. Manger had not mentioned a basement, but he had been confined to a small suite of room on the first floor. Ianto closed his eyes, cocking his head slightly; I could feel the slight stirring of Power and he opened his senses to See.

             “Duw,” he whispered. “This way.”

             I followed, wondering what had shaken him so much. A door in the small butler’s pantry led to a short, rickety flight of stairs that descended into a darkened basement. I heard Ianto pat the wall until he found the switch. When the light came on I had to fight the urge to retch.

             The room was not large. There was nothing in the way of furniture except for an antique church pew against the far wall. The floor was painted black and a ritual circle had been painted on it in white. There was a tall, four-armed candelabrum with red and black candles at each cardinal point.

             A tywyl was pinned to it with metal stakes through its wings.

             Ianto rushed over. I could feel anger pouring out of him. He swept all of Creevey’s magicks aside with a wave of his arm, and the power nearly shook the house’s foundations. I followed, moving to the other side of the tywyl, grabbing the stake. In the general run of things I had very little sympathy for the child thieves but the savagery Creevey’s actions made me sick to the stomach.

             “This will hurt,” I said.

             It nodded. It was its only acknowledgment of our presence. Ianto looked at me and mouthed silently _one…two…three_. On three we pulled and as the stakes pulled clear, the tywyl howled again and gusts of wind rattled the stairs.

             “Will you speak to us?” Ianto asked.

             It nodded. “What do the Usurper Kings want to know?”

             Ianto gave me a questioning look. “That is their name for us,” I explained. “They feel we have taken their place in the magickal pattern of this world. Perhaps they are right in some ways.”

             I let Ianto ask the questions. The tywyl had no reason to love one of my kind, and it would be best if it could deceive itself into thinking it wasn’t really helping us.

             “Susan Creevey? Where is she?”

             “She left. Took our Chosen One with her. We must obey her, or the Chosen One will die.”

             “Why did she do this to you?”

             “The woman stole our Chosen One. We have been searching for many a moon turn for her. We learned of this house and came looking.”  It shuddered. “The woman is powerful and wicked. She held us in thrall. She made the others punish me as an example.”

             I traded looks with Ianto. The tywyl had been in direct touch with Creevey’s mind. There might be something we could learn.

             “What is her magick like?” I asked as softly as I could.

             It shuddered. “There’s cold metal at the heart of it. No touch of air or earth, water or fire. It wants nothing and feels nothing.”

             “It is said your people are very skilled in Seeing. What did you See when the woman touched your mind?”

             “A glove. A metal glove. It is not whole, but it still has great power. The wicked one is tied to it and her own Power would suffer much if it were destroyed.”

             This time is was Ianto who shuddered. Sitting back on his heels, he released his gentle grip on the tywyl. “Thank you for your help, kinsman. You can go.”

             The tywyl flickered out as soon as he felt Ianto’s hands move. I stared at Ianto. “I thought those things were destroyed.”

              Ianto swore ripely in several languages as he pulled out his cell phone. “No reception. Come on…”

             We were both startled to see the tywyl flicker back into view. It looked over both its shoulders, as if worried we could be overheard. “It would go bad for me with my own people if they knew I would help you. The wicked woman hides in the old man’s place. The place with the music.”

             “Damn. Jack’s not answering his phone. Tosh? Listen. I need you to get into the secure Archives and find the box with the pieces of the Risen Mitten. Yes, I know, but it still has something to do with this… Where is Jack?..... What?... No…. Find it, Tosh. Even a tiny little piece. Andy and I will go find Jack and John.”




             His voice had dropped into a whisper. I could feel fear pouring out of him. “Ianto? What is it?”

             “There was an energy spike somewhere near the Castle. Jack sent Rhys and Euan to deal with it. A few minutes later there was another one. It was massive. Jack went to look at it himself. For some reason John insisted in going with him.”

             “So?”

             “The second spike was right on top of the place where the old Ritz dance hall used to be.”


	21. Chapter 21

           We left the SUV parked in front of Susan Creevey’s house. We were fairly close to the Great Path, and I suggested to Ianto we try to use its energy to create a temporary Path of our own.  I wouldn’t have risked it alone, but when Ianto and I combined our magicks, our Power multiplied. It wasn’t surprising; after all, it was what we were bred to do. It was still a hell of a job, though. The Paths have a mind of their own, sometimes, and borrowing enough energy to build your own shortcut often resembles wrestling a greased pig.

             We stepped out right on the street in front of the place where the Ritz had been. After the dance hall had been demolished, some developer with more money than taste had put up one of those modern glass monstrosities. It had been gutted by fire three years later, and the developer had taken the insurance money and scarpered to Belfast. Now the whole place was surrounded by a construction fence, as another twpsyn was trying it again, with a design that, from the sketch displayed on the fence, looked remarkably like the first one.

             Ianto started for the entrance, but I grabbed his arm.

             “Hold on a minute.” He gave me one of his patented get-out-of-my-way looks. “Can’t you feel it?”

             He started to shake his head then stopped as it hit him. “Feels like… I’m standing next to a big turbine. Makes your every bone vibrate.”

             “It’s the Rift. This place has been connected to it for so long, it’s started to develop a physical presence inside it. If Creevey wanted to hide, it’s the perfect place.”

             “So let’s go!”

             “I can’t. I’m blind inside the Road!” I nearly screamed at him in frustration. “My people burned out part of their senses when we closed the Road behind us to keep all other Universes safe, remember?”

             “Then how do I get in there? Because I’m not leaving Jack to face that crazy woman alone!”

             “Nay, young lords, surely ‘tis too soon for despair.”

             We wheeled around to find Robin perched on the decorative railing of the house across the street. He was dressed as Puck is usually dressed in middle school productions of _Midsummer:_ a short chiton embroidered at the hem and a crown of flowers. The costume was, I had discovered, a sort of weapon. Whenever Robin acted the fool, there was something stirring in the deep waters. He was carrying our staves.

             “Can you show me how to get in there?” Ianto asked.

             “Certes, Your Majesty. But I can do one better.” He jumped down to stand next to us, handing us our weapons. “If you will allow me, I can help both of you See.”

             For the first time in a long time I addressed him as I had done as a child. “Uncle Robin, how can that be?”

             “The Sight can be shared. Not for long, mind you, and only between those who have placed trust on each other. You will have enough time to go in and retrieve Your Majesty’s Consort and his bodyguard.”

             Ianto gave him an odd look. “John…”

             “He protects what is yours.” Robin waved his hand as if sweeping aside questions. “Shall we, gentles?”

             He made us bend down so he could lay his hands on our temples.  At first there was nothing and then something inside my head seemed to snap open. It hurt like bloody blazes for a few seconds.

             “Stand upright, slowly. Keep your eyes closed, nephew. Master of Winter, open your eyes and See.”

             I heard Ianto gasp and Robin chuckle.

             “Now open your eyes and See, Master of Summer.”

             I did as was told and nearly swallowed my tongue. Superimposed on the construction site was another building, half-ghost and half-real, built of red brick and lined with lovely ironwork railings. Behind it there was a vast, grey cloud that swirled and heaved as if alive. Reddish lightning shot through it at irregular intervals.

             “Let us go.” Robin said.

             We followed him up the steps. The open opened as he reached it and we could hear music. A woman’s screams and the howls of tywyl made a terrible counterpoint. We ran towards the noise.

             In the ballroom, Jack was on the floor. John Hart stood over him, holding back three tywyl with his sword. He was bleeding from several cuts to his legs and chest. Kneeling at his feet Pansy deflected bolt after bolt being thrown by another two tywyl, turning them back on their source. She was as good a shot as Hart was a swordsman; there was tywyl blood everywhere.  I had never seen a Small One use Energy exactly in that fashion, and made a mental note to ask Robin about it later.

             Across the room, a woman struggled with a young girl. Susan Creevey was short, thin to the point of emaciation, with long blonde hair in a big untidy bun at the back of the neck. Jasmine Pierce was still a child, but her face had acquired a tywyl cast to it as if by osmosis, and she had strength to her that a human child did not. Her teeth were clamped on Creevey’s arm and she held on like a terrier even as Creevey tried to shake her loose.  Creevey was screaming and foam ran out the side of her mouth.

             Seeing Jack unconscious or dead seemed to drive Ianto coldly mad. He pulled Energy from the Rift itself as he wielded his staff, and whatever he struck burnt. The tywyl shrieked as the wood slashed down on their hands and feet. They retreated to a circling pattern near the ceiling.

             I left him to it and headed towards Susan Creevey. She had managed to get a hold of Jasmine and was pushing her head first into the cushion of one of the chairs, trying to smother her. She had underestimated the child, though. Jasmine had spent years in the woods, and her playmates had been tywyl and animals. She kicked back, catching Creevey several sharp blows in the shins, and sending her reeling back directly into me.

             I grabbed her arms, pinning her down as much as I could. “Leave!” I shouted to Jasmine. “And take your friends with you!”

             She looked at me, head cocked, considering. “As you say, Usurper King.”

             They popped out in their usual burst of high wind and rose petals. I was too busy to admire their posturing. Susan Creevey was fighting me for all she was worth. She had the strength of the mad, and I was fighting her on both levels. Her magick was half-wild, and it had the cold, metallic taste the tywyl she had tortured had warned us about.

             And the building was fading out. The sharing was failing and I was starting to go blind.

             “Uncle Robin! Help!”

             Then he was in front of me, and the Fool had been transmuted into the powerful, dreadful being I knew he was. He spoke a few words under his breath and Creevey stopped her screaming. She stared at him in abject terror and, suddenly, I knew what was happening. He had done it to me, once, because I had refused to believe his word that it could be done and I had to learn to protect against it.

             He was inside her mind.

             She started to shake violently, pushing backwards into me, trying to escape whatever it was he was doing. He held her with his eyes, nothing more. After a few minutes, she folded gently downwards, like a flower at the end of the day. He caught her as he fell, and took her down to the floor, crooning as if she were a child.

             “Uncle Puck, we must go.”

             “You go ahead. I shall follow.”

             “But…”

             I felt Ianto’s hand tugging at my shoulder. “You heard him. Let’s go.”


	22. Chapter 22

           We piled into Jack’s SUV, except for Pansy, who sniffed disdainfully and popped out of sight. Ianto helped Jack into the back seat and slid in next to him. Jack was still groggy, but I couldn’t see any injury. Hart, on the other hand, was bleeding from several deep cuts, and loudly unhappy about it. After digging out a roll of bandages from the first-aid kit, he threw the keys at me and climbed into the passenger seat.

             “Jack wouldn’t have stayed dead, you know,” I pointed out.

             He didn’t even look up. “Pansy didn’t think it was a good idea to let him get killed.”

             We found grandmother, aunt Achren, and Angie in the Hub. When she noticed Hart's condition, Angie ran to him and started fussing. Ianto rolled his eyes. Tosh ran too, and I scooped her up as she threw herself at me.

             “Susan Creevey?” Grandmother asked.

             “Puck has her.”

             “Shouldn’t she be here?” Euan ventured. “We have very secure cells.”

             “Believe me, Euan, wherever Susan Creevey is, she is secured. Jasmine is back with the tywyl and I doubt we’ll have any trouble from that quarter.”

             “That’s a relief,” grandmother said. “It’s better not to have to fight in two fronts at once.”

             “Did you two come up with anything?”

             My grandmother and her sister traded a speculative look. I had seen that kind of look before in the Lady Modron’s face; seeing it double made me hug Tosh tighter and brace myself. Ianto, much more innocent in the ways of the Tylwyth Teg, walked right into it.

             “You want to perform a Solstice ritual.”

             “That, yes, but also,” Achren took a deep breath, “we will need to perform a sacrifice.”

             Rhys gasped. “You want to kill someone?”

             “No, Rhys!” I jumped in before anyone else could misunderstand. “For us a sacrifice is a ritual where consecrated objects or people are used to generate…” My mouth dropped open. “The Green Man ritual.”

             Grandmother nodded. “Tomorrow night is a full moon.”

             “But who…” I followed her gaze. “Oh. You know something, grandmother? I’ll let you explain this one to Ianto.”

             “Explain what?”

             “Sex magick,” Angie said calmly. “The oldest and most powerful. On the full moon, a maiden carrying the symbols of air and water gives herself willingly to a man carrying the symbols of earth and fire.” She grasped John’s hand tightly. “I asked John to be my Consort and he agreed.”

             The conversation degenerated a bit after that. I won’t try to reproduce it. I tried to keep count of all the threats sent John’s way, but gave it up as a lost cause. Finally, Angie exploded.

             “Enough! This _will_ happen, Jack, and no, Ianto, you won’t be there. The only male allowed is the celebrant. The women of both families will be in the Circle, as will be the female retainers of both courts. The men will keep Jack company while Andy and Ianto are keeping vigil.”

             And that was that, really. The following evening, as the sun set, Toshiko, Martha, and Tish were whisked away to the Women’s Circle. Martha and Toshiko had insisted on visiting Gwen’s grave to pick some of the roses that grew nearby to add to Angie’s crown. That is as much as I know. Toshiko has never said a word about what she saw, and Rhys and Thomas tell me their spouses have been equally closemouthed, though we all notice that their attitude towards Hart has mellowed considerably.

             On the stroke of midnight, Ianto and I took our places in the vigil chamber. From this moment on, everything we did had a magickal as well as a physical component. Puck led us through a set of exercises meant to cleanse our minds and then took us to the bathing house, where our retinues waited with hot baths and more exercises. Finally we were dressed and crowned. Ianto’s sigh of relief at the sight of proper trousers, tunics, and soft boots, and simple diadems for our heads, made the Small Ones cackle.  I think he had visions of being dressed as an extra in a gladiator movie.

             We left the chamber at sunrise to the sound of drum and harp. I noticed a viewing stand had been set up, with Jack and Tosh in pride of place, both robed and crowned and looking very comfortable in their roles. Grandmother and Aunt Achren sat on either side. The rest of our crew was either back at the Hub or standing guard over the children. Both had Small Ones with them; we were taking no chances.

             “We will give you as much Energy as we can,” Puck whispered. “Be safe, my children.”

             We stood in the center of the field and the Small Ones drew and closed the Circle. Perception was much easier this time; the energy web sprang up immediately, and we balanced at the crossroads opposite each other, glowing green and white. The dark blot I had noticed before had gotten larger and strands of the web hung loose, dripping a thick ichor that burned wherever it touched another strand. Merihim was close.

             We moved towards it, making sure that we mirrored each other with every step. It was harder than what we had done in practice. There, the strands had welcomed the healing we brought. These fought back, twisting away and snapping at our legs, trying to make us fall. Somewhere in the distance I could hear the growls of Tosh’s engines battling to keep the Rift closed.

             As we reached the center of the blot we could find no lines to follow, but there were fiery red outlines in the darkness where they had been. Red, the color of passion. John and Angie had drawn the pattern for us.

             I placed my staff at the place where one of the strands ended and slid it across the fire until it touched the proper crossroad, drawing the line again in its proper channel. It felt as if I were trying to drag the weight of all of Earth. On the opposite side, Ianto matched the gesture. I could see him grimace with effort. And so we wove Earth’s energy web whole again, one strand at a time.

             It went on and on and on until I couldn’t see anything but the golden strands. Every time I thought I would drop a new wave of energy surged through me. I heard Euan scream as one of the engines shook itself apart and sent him flying into a wall, snapping his leg. I could see cracks appearing in the Rift and Tylwyth warriors lining up to meet a foe they couldn’t defeat. I could see Small Ones dropping with the exhaustion of feeding us. I could see my grandmother grow pale and wan, barely able to hold up her hand. I heard Martha sob as the air inside the Hub grew thick with Rift stuff and Rhys’s hand slid from hers. I saw Jack and Tosh trying to reach us. And we kept going, and the web strengthened with each pass.

             Finally, just when I knew I could not draw one more breath, when there was nothing to hold my mind and my body together, I felt the Energy web solidify under my feet. A blaze of golden light surged along the strands fusing them together. I saw Ianto fall, and felt my own feet slide out from under me. We tumbled down to solid Earth and fresh-scented grass and the arms of my Uncle Robin.

             “Well done, young ones, well done."


	23. Epilogue

            I found Jack leaning against the back gate, watching the children play and serving as a deterrent to any of our little imps who were tempted by the perfect lawns in the park beyond.

             “My Lord Consort,” I bowed, not bothering to hide the smirk, “your Royal Spouse bids me tell you to get your arse back into the kitchen and rejoin the party.”

             We were finally celebrating Rosie’s birthday, three weeks late. At least that was our excuse. The back yard was filled with a stampeding herd of kids, both human and tylwyth, watched over fondly by Small Ones. The Torchwood small fry had been an instant hit with my relatives at my engagement party, and these days they spent as much time in one world as in the other. I noticed the subtle hand of the Small Ones on many of the games being played; it was never too early to start training.

             “We came damn close to disaster, Andy,” Jack said soberly. “If it hadn’t been for your people we wouldn’t have made it.”

             It had been the nearest run thing since Waterloo. We were still cleaning up after Merihim, both in the physical and the magickal worlds. Violence, disease, climate upheavals, all sort of things were trending up, and would for a while longer, until his influence was completely gone. At the personal level, we had nearly lost Rhys when the second Rift engine failed. They hadn’t been able to activate the lockdown in time and Rift energy infused with Merihim’s essence had flooded inside through the fountain vents. Rhys had managed to seal the medical bay – where Martha had been setting Euan’s leg – but he had gotten the brunt of it.

             He had spent a week in a coma. Doctors had told Martha gently to prepare for the worst. But nobody had counted with the Puck. Uncle Robin had swept into Rhys’s hospital room with a few of the beldames in tow and they had examined him from his hair to his toenails. When I asked him what they had found he gave me a long, complicated, and totally meaningless answer that made him sound a great deal like Jack's Doctor. We were all firmly ushered out of the room and teams of Small Ones worked on him round the clock for forty-eight hours. When we were let back in Rhys was sitting up and eating.

             To most people, including his flabbergasted doctors, he had experienced a miraculous remission. Ianto and I had Looked a little deeper and what we saw rocked us back on our heels. All of Rhys’s major systems had been modified; internally, he looked more like a Small One than a human being. Outwardly, he seemed normal. Whatever they had done fooled all the medical equipment, and he behaved exactly like our Rhys. The only visible difference was that the sausage butty king had become a thoroughgoing vegetarian. After some discussion, Ianto and I decided to let sleeping dogs lie.

             “We made it,” I told Jack. “And close only works with horseshoes and hand grenades.”

             “Where is Susan Creevey?” Jack said abruptly.

             “I don’t know. With Uncle Robin. I haven’t seen him since he came to the Hub to take the pieces of the Risen Mitten.” I didn’t want to think about Susan Creevey on this day. This was all about joy and the shrieks of happy kids. “She’ll be ok, Jack. The Puck is not cruel without reason. Let’s go in and arm-wrestle John for the last quesadilla.”

             We managed to cross the yard without being stopped by any of the kids, a small miracle in itself since they all thought Jack was the greatest thing since ice lollies on a hot day. Rhys and Euan were watching rugby in the kids’ lounge, amply provided with drinks and snacks. Euan’s cast had been garishly decorated by the kids and he was trying to distract Rhys from the impending Cardiff loss by pointing out the details.

             Ianto was waiting for us at the entrance to the dining room, tapping a wooden spoon against his palm. We managed suitably chastened expressions and were about to start on the apologies when we heard angry voices coming from the kitchen.

             When we got there we found Aunt Achren standing in the middle of the room, face set into implacable calm, while Tosh, Martha, and Angie shouted at her. Grandmother also seemed as if she were about to start bellowing at any second. John stood to one side, trying to keep an impassive appearance but looking as if he was trying to keep from cackling. Pansy sat on one of the high kitchen stools, swinging from side to side and grinning wickedly.

             Ianto and I both tried to cut through the noise without much success. Finally John put fingers to mouth and cut loose with the loudest whistle I had ever heard. In the sudden silence, Jack stepped to the middle of the room and looked at the combatants each in turn.

             “Would anyone care to enlighten us?”

             Tosh and Angie both looked a bit subdued, but Martha had earned her stripes in larger battlefields and was not at all intimidated. “The Lady Achren has seen fit to inform us that the first order of business is for Ianto to choose a proper Consort. It seems you’re not good enough to the Tylwyth Teg.”

             “What in the world does that mean?” Ianto stomped over to Jack’s side. “I am married to Jack. He’s my Consort. Full stop.”

             Achren shook her head. “The Winter King must have heirs of his blood.”

             “But the Small ones approved of him,” I blurted out.

             “The Small ones often act out of romantic impulse,” Achren said. “We cannot.”

             Pansy laughed. “Mayhap the time my Lady has spent away from her people has dulled her eyes, if she cannot See the plain signs.”

             It was as close to an insult as I had ever heard a Small One deliver to someone of Achren’s rank, but there was a meaning behind it that had Aunt Achren, Grandmother, and I swiveling to stare at Jack. I would have laughed at their expression if I hadn’t the suspicion I looked equally gobsmacked.

             “Jack… those jokes you’re always making about getting pregnant… they’re not jokes, are they?” As he shook his head, the memory that had eluded me back in the Hub the day Puck had first visited us became clear as day. “The charm Uncle Robin gave you. Have you ever noticed if it glows after you and Ianto… well, after?”

             He nodded, his eyes going wide as his hands drifted down to cradle his stomach protectively. “It was a fertility charm, wasn’t it?”

             “Yeah.” Something else clicked and I turned to John. “You knew! That’s why you wouldn’t let him get killed.”

             He nodded. “His smell has changed. You can’t tell?”

             “I could,” Ianto sounded half-pissed. “I thought it was stress.”

             John and I burst into laughter as the women made a concerted rush towards Jack. We pulled Ianto away as the female side of the conversation became, in the words of one of my favorite authors, appallingly obstetrical. Once over the shock Jack seemed perfectly comfortable in their society. John called out to Rhys and Euan and ordered them to go into the cellar and bring up some champagne.

             The bastard refused to tell them why.


End file.
